The Other Side
by DustyRabbit
Summary: Every kingdom has something hidden, something not open to the public eye. In the heart of the Elvenking's Halls lives not meant to interact intertwine and the intricate mesh of social classes clash together. Because on the other side, anything can happen. Pre Hobbit and Lord of the Rings.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer** Borrowed Middle Earth for the weekend. Time to play.

 **Warnings.** Non-canon, OOC Elves. Possible language. Multiple OCs.

 **AN** Right! Entering Mirkwood/Greenwood. Wanted to try my hand at the ongoings in the Elvenking's Halls and this idea came to me. Not really that original, but hopefully entertaining enough. There might be some out of characterness with some of the characters.

 **Background.** In this fic, elves come of age at 50, so that makes Legolas slightly under 400, the whole idea being that Thranduil married and had Legolas before being crowned king, thus ensuring the lines survival before riding out to Dagorlad. Setting is around T.A 300. The Royal family is not only limited to Thranduil and Legolas, a bit of AU. Hopefully, it will all straighten out as the story runs along.

 **Critique or questions are welcome!**

 **DR**

* * *

 **.oOo.**

 **The Other Side**

 **.oOo.**

* * *

A low humming resonated down the hall. The tone was familiar, an old lay popular among the serving staff that had caught on to her unwittingly. A slipper clad foot swayed the wooden bucket in pace to the music as potato peels fell one after another into it. The container was no more than half full, meaning that there was still two sacks left to be scrubbed and peeled before dinner. Checking the time once again by examining the long candle, Lona wondered how long it would be until her kitchen aides would come to work.

Tossing another finished potato into the large pot used for boiling she sighed, abandoning her knife as she wiped her hands off on her apron. There was work to be done and she would be damned if dinner was served late just because the kitchen staff decided that sleeping in was more important than seeing to it that the King's table was laid at the proper time. Moving over to the large stove, she stirred the pots already boiling and checked the roasts in the oven for a second time in the last half hour. Lona did not like disruption of her routine, and this certainly caused her nerves to strain.

Another half hour passed before the first hurried steps rushed down the corridor. The sound of them told her it was her youngest aid, and probably the one most frightened of her temper.

"I am so sorry, Lona!" the elleth burst out as she stumbled in through the door. Her hair barely pinned up and her dress a wrinkled mess. "I overslept! I did not mean to, it was an accident! It's just!"

"You were enjoying yourself too much dancing with the guard yesterday and forgot the time. I know, I know."

The dark-haired Silvan flushed as she heard the words. She wrung her hands, uncomfortable at the lack of the scolding gaze that was so common when any of the kitchen staff made a blunder. "You know?" she asked tentatively.

Lona huffed, her green eyes eyeing the younger one, "Half of my employees are missing. Either all of you have managed to get yourself poisoned on the same night, something that would at least give me a just cause for delaying dinner. Or last night's merry-making was a little too successful."

"I am sorry," the girl said dejectedly.

Lona sighed, "No idea in worrying over spilt milk, is there now, Faelwen?" She continued to measure up the flour for the desert she was making, her eyes taking in the ratio between butter and flour with practiced ease. "At least tell me he asked you for a dance?"

Faelwen, who stood tying a clean apron around her middle blossomed a nice red color at the question. "He did.." she said and distracted herself by tying a cloth over her hair to keep it from the dough she was expected to knead. "Though, I do not think it mattered to him. The prince danced with many an elleth, many fairer than myself."

Lona nodded, "He is high in demand. Though being the king's son would push him to interact with as many different subjects as possible." The words did nothing to cheer up her aid, and once again, Lona despaired over the fact that another heart would be left unanswered due to the strict class differences in the Greenwood population. As far as Lonawas concerned, an elf was an elf, no matter who you were born to, or what culture you belonged to.

Faelwen's voice gained a little amusement when she disclosed the next bit of information, "Tanna, on the other hand, did get to dance with Calanon."

Lona looked up, amused, "Oh, did she now?"

"It looked utterly scandalous," Faelwen whispered, her eyes showing her delight. "I was sure they would kiss right then and there on the dance floor, but fortunately he pulled back in the last minute."

"They have been pining for each other for years! It would not surprise me if they scurried off together just to get some privacy." Lona said absent-minded as she poured the batter into one of the baking trays.

These youths were sometimes too blind to notice things that stood directly in front of them. It had taken more than a little push from Lona to get them to admit their feelings for each other, and it continued to amuse her to no ends how shy they were around each other. But in the end, her months of careful planning had finally paid off. She was glad that the pair had at last tried to take the next, logical step.

The sudden silence brought her out of her musings, and she turned to Faelwen to see her grinning so much it almost split her face in two. Lona's eyes widened, "They did not!"

Faelwen simply nodded, knowing that saying anything more would put her friend in trouble. The elleth was well aware that although Lona was in favor of romance, and actually actively encouraged it, the woman was very conservative. She probably thought they had eloped or something equally scandalous. It was better Tanna explained herself, _if_ she decided to show up today at all.

"What happened to small steps?" Lona mumbled to herself, her mind kept spinning and she couldn't help but think that maybe her actions had worked a little too well.

Pushing the tray into one of the empty ovens, Lona pulled off her head cloth, allowing her auburn braid to slip back down her back. She wiped at her temple, the kitchen was sweltering at this time of day and she only hoped that the dinner would be done in time. Clearly, there was no knowing when the rest of her aides would turn up.

"You did only dance with the prince?" she asked, her eyes measuring the girl in front of her. The wild but attractive features were sure to catch more than the prince's eyes, but the girl was stubborn. She had a hard time believing Faelwen would entertain the idea of any of the other ellon at the gathering. The girl did have a terrible crush on the Prince, as many other of the young Silvan maids.

"Yes. Only the prince." Faelwen answered flatly.

"Good, at least I have one sensible girl in the lot."

* * *

 **.oOo.**

The last of the serving staff had left and only a pile of dishes remained. Lona was thankful that the dinner had gone as planned, for she did not like disappointing the king. The kitchen was silent now at the end of the day, and a cool breeze was let in from one of the windows that had been left open. Lona sighed as the tickle of cold air ran along her skin, this was the last time she made oven roasts and baked at the same time. The warm summer air provided little relief even without having all ovens on full burn for most of the day.

She looked up when another presence settled beside her. A longhaired, blonde elleth joined in on scrubbing plates. Her blue eyes not leaving the soapy suds.

"You don't have to be here. I gave the rest of the girls time off." Lona pointed out softly, her hands carefully handling the silverware.

The elleth glanced at Lona for a moment, blue eyes gazing at her guiltily. "I had more time off than the others. Let me help."

"I do not blame you, or any of the others for enjoying yourself now and then, Tanna. Even though the timing could have been better." Lona tried to explain, but watching the normally silent elleth try to make up for her mistakes made a hint of pride fill her. Tanna had been left in her care at a very young age, a favor to her mother, and it made her feel almost maternal around the elleth she had come to count as family.

"Thank you." Tanna worked in silence for another moment, her face conflicted. "You once told me to trust my heart. That it would know when I met the right one."

Lona nodded, she remembered the advise she had once given the troubled elleth. Was this about Calanon? She frowned as she considered the captain. They were both inexperienced in the ways of love, but Lona had thought that the ellonwould have a little more sense in the matter than Tanna. The elleth could be naïve about even the simplest of things.

"I think.." Tanna shook her head, causing some of her blonde strands to shift forward over her shoulders. "I think he is the one."

Lona raised a brow. Tanna did not sound that convinced. "Is he?"

"I.. It is hard to explain." Tanna moved to set some of the washed plates in the stand for drying. "I feel happy around him. He makes me smile... I long for him."

Lona smiled, she knew that feeling well. "It is only natural."

"Is it?" Tanna questioned, surprised.

Lona nodded, her green eyes shimmering. "You long for him. You cannot bring yourself to part from him, and before you know it, you cannot live without him. He becomes the very air you breathe. The sun that lights your day.."

She watched the dreamy expression overtake Tanna's face as she spoke and it made Lona feel young again. Like the last two millennia was simply a dream and she too was a girl experiencing the age-old magic of love. But the truth was much more dark, and she wished it upon no other. All she could do was hope that Tanna would be spared that burn that could follow in love's wake. Lona's eyes saddened a fraction as she added, "Then one day, you realize there is color in the world. A vibrance that you had never imagined existed. All due to him."

"Have you ever been in love, Lona?" Tanna asked, her eyes hopeful and bright at the stunningly accurate description of her own feelings.

A small smile curled the corners of her lips. "I have once. A long time ago."

The tint of longing in Lona's voice did not pass unnoticed. "Once? What happened?"

Lona gazed down into the soapy depths of the wash basin. Her voice sounded far off even to her own ears as she contemplated her own fate. The true reason behind years and years of unanswered longing. "We lost sight of one another.. We have never met since."

* * *

 **.oOo.**

"How much longer for those onions!?" Lona called angrily.

"Coming!" Faelwen rushed across the kitchen, her eyes red and swollen, carrying a bowl of finely chopped onions.

"Hmm.." Lona said as she ran her fingers through the mixture. "Nicely done.. Keep this up and you will get to help me with tomorrow's dessert."

The girl beamed back at her, her blue eyes shining. "Yes!"

Lona shook her head at the girl. "No point in rejoicing now! You still have another batch waiting for you," she scanned the girls face again, "and pour some hot water into the sink. It will keep your eyes from stinging so much."

"Ah, yes!" she scrambled back to her workbench. Quickly setting back to work on her onions.

Lona stared at her for a minute before sighing. Mixing the onion in with the minced meat she wondered how long it would take for the girl to learn that the kitchen was not a battle zone. Lona was thankful for Faelwen's enthusiasm, but her floor now sported more onion pieces than she considered proper.

A call from the entrance of the kitchen caught her ear and she turned her head, hands still working, and saw the dark-haired male standing there. Galion motioned with his eyes to her, his tall form restless. Frowning, Lona washed her hands clean and went to him.

"What is it?"

"Lady Lona," he started, his eyes flickered over the staff working behind her, "do you mind?"

"Of course not." Lona stepped out of the kitchen, leading him aside to one of the neighboring rooms she often used as an office. "What is bothering you, my Lord?"

An apprehensive look settled on his features, his hand closing the door behind him. "Has the Prince visited the kitchen?"

She tilted her head at the underlying anxiousness in the question. "No.. I am afraid not. I have not seen him this morning, though I did send him something to eat last night, as requested."

The King's butler raked a hand through his brown tresses. His eyes closed as regret filled his face. It was a most unusual sight, and Lona found herself wondering what could bring the normally collected elf into such a state. She thought for a moment before it struck her. "You have lost him _again_."

The elf winced at the statement. "I have done nothing! It is he who insists on running away!"

It was a known fact that the Prince, though past his majority, had an infamous record of disappearing without warning. The boy loved exploring and adventures, most such thoughts driving him to leave on expeditions on his own; out into the forest or running the lands around Greenwood. This hobby was of course disapproved of by the King, who held his son's safety a high priority. That would be reason enough for Galion's despair since the elf was responsible for keeping tabs on Legolas during the day.

Lona lay a hand on his shoulder, an attempt to try and calm the elf. "I am sure he is around here somewhere. You know how he gets whenever he is locked inside the palace for too long."

Galion looked back at her, a disbelieving stare in his dark eyes. "The last time he disappeared he nearly got himself killed! And I checked, the Prince left his bow, which means he is off _somewhere_ completely unarmed."

She winced, her mind silently scolding the little one that had pattered in and out of her kitchen for years without fail. The prince was dear to her, painfully so. But even she understood that his behaviour was well out of line these days. His escapades had grown in outrageousness, not without help from his overprotective father, who insisted on taking the soft approach in raising the boy. Prince Legolas himself was of course oblivious to it all, and no one had the heart to scold him for keeping a last bit of innocence.

Galion seemed to slump in front of her. "What am I to tell the king?"

The hopelessness of the situation did nothing to improve the butler's mode. The king would be outraged by his son's disappearance. For although the Prince was a fully grown elf, he had not yet been cleared to join the guard. Nor had he received the proper training needed to wander the darkening wood alone.

"Is he asking questions?" Lona asked as she maneuvered the elf into one of the stuffed chairs in the room.

"He _suspects_ something." Nothing could be kept from the King for too long. King Thranduil was in constant connection with the forest, meaning he could sense happenings in the realm far faster than any normal elf. "I believe he was expecting him to show up for the morning meal."

Lona nodded. The royal family was busy, but the king always took time to share breakfast with his son every first day of the week. He specifically made time for it in his schedule. For the Prince to have not shown up would have been strange indeed and a cause for worry.

Inwardly, she scolded herself. She should have known something was wrong when the prince did not find his way into her kitchen in the morning as he did by habit.

"What will you do?" she asked from where she crouched in front of him. She feared for Galion, for the King's anger was not a pretty sight to see.

He threw his arms up. "What is there to do but tell him?"

"You cannot stall for time? Who knows, he may be visiting out in the fields. The girls told me he danced with quite a few of the ellith from the King's farms. Perhaps, he became sweet on one of them?"

"Do you think so?" Galion asked, he doubted it but he could not be certain. The prince was at _that_ age.

"It is possible," she watched life return into the dark eyes. "Let me distract the King. I know just the thing."

The elf seemed to consider it for a moment, his dark eyes searching hers before he reached out for her hand. Without warning, he lifted it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it. "You are my saving grace, my Lady."

"Oh, stop it." She gave a light slap to his shoulder before she pulled away and straightened out her apron. "Find the Prince, Galion. I will take care of the rest."

He smiled gratefully, heading for the door after thanking her. Lona's voice stopped him by the door however.

"Oh, and Galion, bring out the wine."

They grinned, for if it was one thing that would improve their King's spirits, it was Dorwinnion.

* * *

 **.oOo.**

He was in a particularly bad mood. Somehow, he felt that someone was keeping something from him. The hairs at the back of his neck tingled ominously, and he knew that _something_ was not right.

 _But what?_ The King thought.

Thranduil walked the halls with no particular goal in mind. He had thought of retiring to read for a while before dinner, but staring at pages full of text so soon after his work in his office made his skin crawl. He paused for a moment, seeing one of the servant girls scurrying off down the hall. His staff was, as per habit, nervous around him. Something that had gone unfixed during the years of his rule. The image of King that had been drilled into him by his father allowed no weaknesses, but at times like these he wondered whether the fear he could see in the eyes of some of his subjects was really necessary for him to rule.

Sighing, he steered off towards the large sunroom. He would enjoy some quiet before joining the masses in the Great Dining Hall. It was the first day of the week, and that meant more of his elves would have returned to join in on the feasting. The beginning of Harvest always held the most festive dinners.

"My Lord," a serving girl entered the room, interrupting his viewing of the outside garden. "The kitchen send these. Shall I prepare some tea for you?"

He watched the skittish girl, taking in her submissive behaviour, her eyes on the floor. "Yes, thank you."

The acceptance caused the girl to burst into action, her hands well-practiced as they prepared and poured a perfect cup of tea. She set the teacup together with the platter containing the small pastries on the coffee table.

"I will be outside if you need anything," she said with a bow.

With a simple nod from Thranduil, the girl left the room, leaving him alone with a heavy sweet scent of blooming flowers rising from the tea. His favorite. Seating himself, he lifted the cup to his lips, scenting the warm tea before sipping. The mix of flowery nectar and subtle honey filled his senses.

"The Dance of Spring," he mused, wondering at the choice of tea to use in the middle of the summer. It was a blend made by his head cook, one he had indulged in over the years from way before his coronation. It brought back memories of a time much brighter, light days spent underneath the bows of a young forest. Before the dark started to consume it.

Spying the pastries, he reached out to take one. The rich cream and vanilla filling in it a delicious combination with the tea.

 _Lona must be in a good mood_ , he thought.

Turning back to gaze at the flowers that still lingered in his garden, he enjoyed the small comfort. The niggling thought vanished for now, leaving only a whisper in his mind.

It was not until dinner when that same pressing gut instinct returned to him. Thranduil was late in arriving to the slightly upraised dais where he and the more central members of the Royal family dined. Immediately upon his ascent up the stairs he noticed the empty chair beside his own.

"Where is Legolas?" he asked, none too bothered by the stares his tall form with its long, white gold hair drew around him. It was nothing new.

"Legolas?" his sister asked slowly, her head turning to watch the chair where the young Prince was supposed to besitting. "I thought he was with you? I have not seen him today.."

The King took his place at the far end of the table, his chair more throne-like than the others, stating his position. "I have not seen him today either.." Thranduil replied, heavy brows knitted together in a frown.

"Perhaps he is out watching the guard train again, you know how much he likes to watch them in action." Beinion, his nephew, added as he spooned himself some cranberry sauce.

Thranduil was about to point out that he had explicitly forbidden him from even nearing the training grounds after his last mishap of almost getting himself stabbed while engaging some of the less experienced members in a spar with live swords. But he was interrupted by Galion, who moved forward to pour him some wine.

"I am sure he is just being held up by one of his female admirers, Sire."

Legolas? Entertaining elleths? He narrowed his eyes at his butler. "And who might this young elleth be?"

Galion gulped, but did not attempt to lie in front his lord. "I do not know her name, Sire. But I have received information that the young prince is very popular among the young women. Prince Legolas.. well.. he is at _that_ age. After the last feast I thought-"

"You mean to say he is off gallivanting with an elleth he barely knows." That is not his son. Thranduil had not raised him like that.

The other members at the table stiffened somewhat at the harsh tone, but they were accustomed to the flare of the King's tempers, and soon resumed their eating. Galion, realizing his mistake, tried to mend the situation.

"I am simply stating that it would not be strange for the young Prince to have developed an interest in the opposite sex. Most elves marry young.."

 _Silvan elves do marry young_ , Thranduil thought sourly, his mood not improved by this new argument of his butler.

Suddenly, the thought of his son out somewhere with another elleth did not seem so innocent as he had once thought. What was more, his son _had_ danced with more than a few Silvan maidens at the feast. That thought made his stomach lurch uncomfortably. He reached for the glass of wine laid out for him and downed it. The now empty glass was quickly filled by Galion, the butler flitting about the table nervously.

"Thranduil, please calm down," he heard his sister hiss from down the table. The King knew without looking that his thoughts had not been as hard to read on his face as he thought. He could feel the eyes on him, specifically the eyes of his Silvan subjects.

Picking up his silverware, he started to pick apart his meal. He ate more out of practice than enjoyment. His mouth retained the firm line it settled in at the beginning of the dinner as his mind dissected the possibility of his son choosing to spend time with an elleth over time with his own father.

It left a strong bitter taste in his mouth.

Galion, however, stood hovering by his side. His mind was not far away from his king's, because although he had his suspicions, he had yet to receive any info on the Prince's whereabouts. Lady Lona had convinced him that the young Prince would turn up sooner or later. He had trusted her before, and had not been let down by the Silvan elleth'sinstincts. Still, he wondered what the King would do to him _if_ the Prince did not turn up in time to sooth the King's temper.

The main course was finished faster than he would have liked, for the King soon started to search the hall for that familiar golden head. It was not to be, of course, but except for filling his King's glass Galion had no other way of soothing him. Sadly, Galion realized that the lull of Dorwinnion might not even be enough in the end. Sighing, he bit the inside of his cheek, steeling himself as best he could back into the image of his usual stoic persona.

"I guess, this is it for today." Beinion said, twirling the dessert spoon in his hand. Dinner never was much fun withoutLegolas present.

The servants took away the dirty dishes and now the dessert was being served. A lush bowl of fruit, fresh from harvest, and wonderful soft whipped cream sprinkled with thinly sliced nuts. Plates containing of all sorts of pastries already sat on the table, looking inviting to the eye.

Thranduil sighed as he reached out to one of them while waiting as the bowls were distributed. His hand stopped in mid-air however when his eye caught a flash of silver in the crowd. One of the servants carried a silver serving plate, covered by a dome-shaped lid.

The elf he recognized as Thalion, one of the few males working in the kitchen, stopped beside him and placed the serving plate down before him.

"For you, Sire."

The lid was removed and Thranduil startled seeing the delicately made tart, crowned by fresh wild strawberries and juicy blueberries. He turned to ask Thalion about the tart but the elf had already left. Facing the dessert again, he cut a piece of it and placed it on a smaller dessert platter. It was then that he noticed the writing in blueberry sauce on the porcelain that held the tart.

 _'Congratulations, Ada'_

Thanduil almost dropped his fork. There was no question about it. That squiggly handwriting was Legolas's doing.

Galion moved closer when he saw his King's stunned expression. His eyes narrowed in contemplation as he repeated the words aloud. "Congratulations? For what?" he asked mostly for himself.

But the King did not answer immediately, his mind still whirling. "Three hundred years as King.."

Thranduil had completely forgotten. Not that elves put a lot of weight into anniversaries of any kind. Time was always flowing and a simple hundred years meant nothing to an elf's lifespan. Even with begetting days, rarely was any after the fiftieth celebrated, as it marked the coming of age for elves; when they would be classed as fully grown, mature adults in their society.

Legolas, however, had remembered the years and the specific date of his coronation. Despite that Legolas had been barely a hundred at the time himself.

Thranduil felt a strange warmth spread through him and his eyes burned with the familiar sensation of tears. No. He would not cry. He would not waste his son's efforts.

Slicing a piece of the tart with his fork, he tasted it.

 _Perfect._

* * *

 **.oOo.**

"Do you think Ada will be mad?" Legolas asked as he sat on a stool beside the stove, observing Lona at work. The dinner was still in progress, so most of the kitchen staff was upstairs, tending to the diners. It left the kitchen empty of elves, and Legolas liked the cozy silence.

Lona grinned none to discreet at him from where she stood stirring one of the soups needed for the elves in the infirmary. "Do you think he will be mad at you?"

Legolas averted his gaze, staring at his blueberry stained hands. "I don't think so. I did it to make him happy. Why would anyone get mad over such a thing?"

"Parenthood is a complicated matter, my Prince. What might seem rational to you can be taken a whole other way when it is seen through the eyes of a worried parent."

The prince frowned. "But you would be happy if I gave you a present, right Lona?"

"I would be happy for anything you gift me, Prince Legolas. Whether it is a present, or your presence keeping me company in the kitchen."

Legolas smiled happily. His clear blue eyes, the same shade as his father's, shone back at her. "You are a good friend, Lona."

"Good that we cleared that up. Otherwise I will have to start suspecting you are only here for my cookies," she said, laughing.

The ellon grinned sheepishly, "Not _just_ the cookies! Lona, you are good at making anything. The best!"

Lona shook her head at him, eyes dancing. "I won't claim to be the best cook ever, though since I've somehow managed to keep you from growing up a gangly ellon I must have some skill," she stopped to brush some of the cookie crumbs off the front of his tunic. "How an elf manages to grow big and strong on sugar alone is a mystery."

"Ada loves sweets! If he can become a strong warrior and eat it I don't see why I should not."

She leaned down to whisper conpiratorially in his ear, as if sharing a secret hidden from the rest of the world. "Your father has a sweet tooth, my Prince, but he still eats his vegetables."

The mortification on his face showed her all she needed and she smiled inwardly at her success in convincing the blonde prince to eat more greens. She pulled the half-empty cookie jar from the counter top beside him, evoking a small protest from the still cookie nibbling Prince.

"No more cookies for those who skip dinner," she said sternly.

Legolas bemoaned his fate for a minute, before settling back into his place on his stool. His curious blue eyes studied the various parts of the kitchen, which stood still alive with different processes of cooking.

He had once asked his father if he could work in the kitchen. But he had quickly been shot down, apparently the kitchen was not a workplace befitting of a Prince. Or so his grandfather had said, at least. His father had continued the verdict, but no one could stop him from lingering there when he wished. He only did so though when Lona permitted it, which meant one could find him here mostly in the mornings, when it was often just herself readying the ovens and stoves for the days work.

Folding his arms over his knees, he rested his chin against them. "I missed you at the feast, you know."

She did not face him, but continued stirring the soup. "I know."

"Is it because of father?" Legolas knew that Lona and the king had been friends at one point, but the two of them had always acted courteous around each other from the first time Legolas met her. Like a proper King and his servant. Always with a barrier between them. It was sad, because his father had few real friends, and he thought the King might like having her as a friend. Legolas certainly did.

"No, little leaf," Lona answered as she sighed tiredly. "I.. I am tired of banquets and balls and feasting under the stars. I am tired of _dancing_."

Legolas laughed, a childish laughter that always reminded her of the child he had once been. "You are acting like you are old, Lona. Which I know is not true because you laugh a lot more than Ada's old councillors," he gave her a pointed look, "and they _are_ old."

"Being old and feeling old is two different things, my Prince." Stoking the fire in the stove, she accidentally burned herself on the warm hatch, which caused her to hiss.

With lightening speed, her hand was pulled away and put in a basin of chilled water. Legolas flattened out her palm underneath the surface with his hands, to allow him to see the burn properly.

"It is nothing," she insisted. "A minor burn compared to what I have acquired in the past."

"Ada always says a lady needs to care for her hands." The blonde ran his fingertip along the redness of the burn. "You have working hands, very different from those of my aunt, but important none the less."

He wrapped the hand in a clean kitchen towel, taking care not to press unnecessarily on the wound.

"Thank you, little Leaf," she said as she took the bound hand and held it to her. Her other reached up to stroke the top of his golden head, even though he had grown past her height and reaching so high became a hard task in itself.

The clearing of a throat alerted them to Galion, where he stood at the entrance.

"My Prince, I have searched for you." He forced a smile on his face despite the fact that he wanted to scold the boy, but remembering the King's surprise and happiness from earlier he reined in his anger. "Come, your father is calling for you."

Lona watched the young Prince as his eyes bounced from one to the other. His eyes finally settled on her and she had to smile at the innocent question in his eyes.

"It is okay. The others will soon be back." Lona eye-smiled at Galion for a moment before waving the blonde off. "Scurry off, little Leaf, and share your adventures with your father."

The Prince grinned, waving goodbye enthusiastically even as Galion rolled his eyes at the sight. Once the Prince had run down the hall. a grateful smile graced Galion's features and he bowed slightly to her, before he turned the corner, leaving her alone in the kitchen.

Without the incessant talking of the Prince, the kitchen fell silent, and only the sound of bubbling pots remained. Another day which heralded another week's beginning was over. She lifted the kitchen towel and stared down at the burn, a soft smile dawning on her lips.

Moving to the cabinet where she kept the first aid equipment in case of any injuries occurring in the kitchen, she lifted the almost empty jar of salve used for burns and cuts.

Yes. Tomorrow was a new day.

* * *

 **#To be continued...**

* * *

Translations

Ada – Father, Dad


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer** The brilliant genius behind the original characters and the magical realm of Mirkwood belongs to Professor Tolkien. I only borrow the setting and magnificent elves in it.

 **AN** First! Thank you for the first review! Follows and favorites!

Okay. I am still trying to set the stage properly for the plotline. So hang in there..

I have decided on a tradition for the Silvan elves concerning their hair and braiding. It is to be noted that there are certain meanings behind each braid. Each 'braid' is a statement. There are of course a set of 'styles' connected to one 'braid', so that males and females may wear one kind of 'braid' without looking too androgynous and to allow some day-to-day diversity. So there's no confusion, each braid is explained down **below**.

Also, I've tried to determine Legolas's level of maturity. Please comment if he comes off as too childish/playful. He is ~400 years but Thranduil is quite protective of his son, which makes Legolas kind of oblivious to the hardships of life.. for now.

Oh, and what do you prefer: **Long or short chapters?**

R&R (pointers are welcome)

DustyRabbit

* * *

 **.oOo.**

 **Chapter 2**

 **.oOo.**

"Good morning!"

The blonde paused in the doorway, finding not only one head, but two staring back at him. He lowered his voice substantially, drawing on as much of his charm as he could manage this early in the morning, "Ah.. I mean..A fair morning to you all, Ladies."

One head blushed and the other burst out laughing. The embarrassment finally overtook him and Legolas shrank back, his eyes shifting from one elleth to the other. Suddenly aware of his less than princely behavior. But he had not thought to find more than Lona waiting for him. It was five in the morning after all.

"Good.. Good morning, Prince Legolas," Faelwen said slowly, she could feel her face burn at the sight of him. She did not dare look straight at him, fearing that she would laugh at the prince. The sight of him was somewhat.. different from what she was used to.

"Yes, yes. A very good morning indeed, my Prince. I see you thought that leaving your room again without brushing your hair would slip the King's notice." Lona's eyes danced as they gazed at him, one hand clutched to her stomach as to hold her against her tinkling laughs.

The prince gave a somewhat indignant cry at the accusation, but pink still dusted his cheeks. "I will have you know that I had every intention of brushing it.. had I actually been able to find the brush!" He glanced quickly at Faelwen before shifting back to Lona. At least one of them was not laughing, though he had a sneaking suspicion that she was close to since the young elleth would not meet his eyes.

"Do you really think he will notice?" he asked nervously. His father was always very strict about such matters after all.

"He will definitely notice," Lona deadpanned after she finally stopped laughing. She took in the messy state of his hair. The golden strands looking like hay in a haystack. The braids messy and the normally straight strands in comical disarray. "But really, Prince Legolas, even if your brush went missing surely you have a comb?"

The elf grimaced at the word. "I hate combs. They always get stuck and it hurts like-"

"Legolas!"

"Right," he smiled sheepishly, slinking over to her. "Which is why I thought you could help me? It never hurts when you comb it."

Lona sighed. She felt like she was handling the twenty-year-old elfling again. The same puppy eyes stared back at her, except now they stared _down_ instead of up. She battled her conscience for a moment before she yielded. "Fine!"

Turning to Faelwen, she asked, "Do you mind taking over for me? Just for a moment."

The girl nodded and stood, taking over kneading the bread dough. Lona led the Prince to the small table in the corner where the staff sometimes ate during their breaks. Ordering the boy into a seat she gently undid the braids that Legolashad tried to make this morning. Faelwen tried not to stare at them and stay polite, but the picture they made seemed too strange to ignore.

Legolas sat still, eyes closed as he leaned forward against the backrest of the chair, completely relaxed. Lona carried a look of concentration on her face, her fingers moving nimbly through his golden hair as she eased up the tangles one by one using her hands.

"Comb," she said flatly, taking the offered device before starting to rake it through the hair, small sections at a time.

Faelwen felt a blush threatening again. Hair was special to elves, but even more so for Silvan. To let another touch one's hair was an intimate gesture and no other than her mother and sisters ever fingered her hair in that way. For the prince to be so comfortable around Lona to let her touch his hair in such a way.. Without her consent, her imagination placed herself in Lona's place and it made the heat on her cheeks rise even more.

Faelwen's staring must have unnerved him, because Legolas opened his clear blue eyes and stared straight back at her. He did not move an inch but his eyes communicated all that needed to be said with that single look.

 _Do not interrupt us._

Faelwen almost flinched at the hard edge in the normally soft and kind eyes. It was a look she had only seen mirrored in the King, when he was in one of his moods. Shuddering faintly, she turned her head back down to the dough. If he thought she intended to intrude, then he was wrong. Though it made her heart ache at the rejection she just experienced. She had always thought the prince a kindly elf. The were both close in age and she liked the way he always seemed to have a smile ready. His handsome features were of course a great advantage, but never had she thought that his exterior could hide a shade of his father beneath it. It seemed too unreal to be true. The father and son were as different as night and day and not only in appearance.

Portioning out the rolls, Faelwen carried the tray to the counter closest to the ovens to rise. When she returned, it was just in time to find Lona finishing off the simple braid. It pulled the hair out of his face, but left the large part of it falling down his shoulders and back. It was simple and elegant. But not something Faelwen thought a Prince would wear. Though, until his inauguration into the guard, Legolas would not be allowed to wear the customary warrior braids. Until then, he would have to make do with normal braids.

"There," Lona said as she finished.

Legolas traced a hand down the braid, feeling for its form since he could not see it. "It is good, as always. But I never understand why you insist on these docile braids." He moved to seat himself on the chair by the window, which allowed Lona to fetch his customary breakfast. His voice trailed a little on the wistful side when he asked, "I have seen the braids of your people. They are so much more fun."

Faelwen nearly choked on the air she breathed when she heard the innocent interpretation of the difference between the Silvan and the Sindar style of braiding. She had not known that the prince was unaware of the meaning behind theSindar style. Braiding was more of a tradition than simply ornamental styling, something that every elfling learned at an early age. Though considering the sheltered upbringing the prince had, Faelwen could not blame him for not knowing.

It was well-known throughout the realm that late King Oropher, the current King's father, did not favor the Silvan way of life. Yes, he respected them as his subjects, but he did not allow his family to mingle with them unnecessarily. His son, King Thranduil, had continued on that tradition. Not necessarily forbidding interaction, but Faelwen had learned early on in her service at the palace that things were not always so smooth between the Sindar nobles and the Silvanpopulation.

It infuriated the younger Silvan generations, who despised the claims that the Sindar and the Noldor looked down on them as less worthy, as more _wild_ compared to their western kin. Faelwen, on her part, had thought that withThranduil's ascension to the throne Greenwood would grow more in equality where it concerned these matters. But as her peers liked to remind her, the power of state still remained in the hands of the Sindar. The noble blood of the ruling family remained 'unpolluted' and 'unspoiled'.

Lona stood silent for a while, contemplating the best way to discuss the issue. She had always been one of the more resilient, but also one of the more wise elves of the Silvan elves in the palace. Her mother's tribe's neutral position had always taught her patience when discussing her heritage with none Silvan. Especially since the Sindar were very different in their ways, compared to Silvan elves. But did not stop her from always striving for compromise. She would rather try to bridge across their differences instead of pointing them out. To reach for an understanding. Because understanding the differences was the only way to find acceptance. The needed to be able to coexist after all. Lona saw no reason anyone should have to be born either one camp or another. A reasoning which earned her high regard with the other staff members within the palace.

"I would gladly show you the true braids of my people one day, Prince Legolas. For they mark our heritage, and our pride. Even as little elflings, we have to earn the right to learn the old techniques, which have been passed down from generation to generation. When you earn the right to wear one, I will braid one for you."

It was as close to a diplomatic answer as Lona would come. She would not admit that given their traditions, there were few occasions short of marriage into a tribe that would allow an outsider to bear their braids. She shook her head, shaking off the scolding she would have gotten from her grandmother had she braided another's hair in their way without having earned the honor. It would not do to drag the prince into the affairs of his elders. Some things were simply better not known.

"That is not the only reason, is it?" Legolas asked, his eyes turning to the other Silvan in the room.

Legolas was sure he would get an answer easier from Faelwen than Lona. Legolas could tell there was an oliphaunt in the room, but it was also blatantly obvious that none of the ellith were willing to touch upon the subject. In fear of what? He did not know. But the Prince feared that the subject he stumbled upon was far graver in nature than he had once anticipated. There seems this was another subject he would have to add to the list of things he did not know about their woodland kin.

Lona sighed as she set a bowl of oatmeal and blueberries on the table in front of him. She could see that Legolas was still curious of the subject, but she had no intentions of going into detail about the peculiarities of the Silvan people with him. Especially since she knew the King's attitude on the matter. "You will have to ask your father."

 _So that was it then_ , Legolas thought bitterly. His brow furrowing, a displeased look on his face.

It the phrase he hated to hear the most because it meant that pursuing the matter any further almost definitely would get him in trouble. It was a fact he had learned early on while living in the palace. Legolas knew he was sheltered, andhad been spared pain and difficulties that others his age would have already experienced. Legolas understood that. He also saw that his father valued his integrity above all else. Even if it meant going as far as to hide the truth from him.

Lona watched as the cogs and wheels turned in the boy's head. She knew that Legolas was not, by any chance, stupid. It was impossible to imagine considering who his father was. But still, Lona had hoped to somehow spare him from this as long as possible.

The stiff relations between the Sindar and the Silvan had affected a lot of lives in Greenwood. Not even Lona herself had been spared that fate. Still, on this subject she had to agree with the King. He was the Prince's father, no one else. Which meant she had no right to interfere.

That was what hurt the most.

She went back towards the oven, beckoning Faelwen to her. "Come, let us get this last batch in the oven and then we will break fast."

The unusually silent elleth nodded, sending a tentative glance towards the still thinking blonde. Lona could sense that the girl was still nervous around Legolas. Their discussion had only made her disposition even more prominent.

"Can I have flower tea?" Faelwen asked hopefully. She really needed some of that calming tea now.

The girl's eyes grew large with a silent plead, and Lona could almost imagine her as an elleth half her age. For although she was older, she still retained a small part of that childish innocence Lona had once tried to save. So much had been lost all too soon.

Smiling encouragingly, Lona nodded, "Of course you can."

* * *

 **.oOo.**

Dawn was for those who had time to rest, not for one who had a kitchen to run. The stars were still high in the sky when Lona moved around in her room at the back of the servant quarters. The cool morning air filtered in through the cracks of her window, invigorating and refreshing at the same time.

She stood before her mirror, watching herself in the light of a single candle. Her green dress was simple and made for comfort, not to look flattering. But it did not stop her from tugging a little at the waistline of her dress. The fabric had become a little tight recently, something she had accepted over the years as kitchen head cook. A little weight gain was not unusual for her, but it always made her frown when she found out she had to alter her dresses once again.

Sighing, she brushed her long auburn hair. The length was a custom of her people, but it did not stop her from wishing she could cut it to a more manageable length. At least she did not have to suffer that knee-length hair most of the courtladies had, it made her hip long hair seem much more comfortable. Remembering the warm weather from yesterday, she decided to braid and pin it up firmly on her head. The weight would tug at her scalp but it would give her a little more movement than a loose braid.

Her thoughts wandered as she made the customary twists and braiding that belonged to an unmarried Silvan elleth. It was somewhat ridiculous that she would have to make a 'free' braid at her age, but she had made her choices, and she would stand by them firmly. Finishing off, she added a white hair clip, small white flowers encrusting its length.

It was not long until she walked soundless through the servant quarters, entering the hall that led down to the kitchen. Her apron, a pristine white, glowed in the dark, making her seem almost ghost-like as she walked on in silence. Using her keys, she unlocked the heavy door to the kitchen. She found the prepared tea-tray she left each evening on the small cart by the door missing.

 _Galion must have fetched it for the King last night,_ she mused.

The butler was a committed elf who took none of his priorities lightly. He lived his life alongside the king, which was an honor any decent Silvan elf would be proud of. But it also meant that he did not retire until the King saw it fit to do so himself. It was a hard routine, one Lona had often addressed him on, since the King never held fixed hours and could at times be found working long into the night.

As she lifted the teakettle, she saw the little note and small white flower placed beside it.

' _Thank you ~ Galion'_

Lona smiled and brought the small blossom up to her nose. When the elf had found the time to fetch an apple blossom for her she had no idea. But it still made her smile.

As she ran her fingertips over the smooth white petals she was remembered that she would soon have to venture out to harvest more flowers for her teas. Her flower teas where the only ones they did not import, and it was often in high demand in the palace. She kept a strict stock reserved for the King, however, as he had taken a clear liking to her blends.

Reaching the wooden cabinet containing her teas, she closed her eyes and enjoyed the smell of dried flowers that fled it once she opened the door. She checked the amounts scrupulously, her face falling a little when she saw the dwindling supply of 'The Dance of Spring' blend. It would not do. The King's favorite was her own security blanket which had kept her in King Tranduil's good graces through many a trouble over the years. Closing the box, she wondered how long it would take for this years spring flowers to dry sufficiently. There had been little forest flowers last spring due to the cold winter in northern Greenwood, and the small harvest she had drying in her office would be strained to keep up with the demand throughout the winter.

Sighing, she locked the cabinet. The silver key hung on a leather cord around her neck, neatly tucked away beneath her dress.

Perhaps she could barter with her kin in the eastern reaches of the forest? Silvan elves did gather some and dry them according to tradition for the spring festival, but it was a custom that was fading with the years. Less and less flowerswere harvested as more time was spent trying to increase crops to supply the capital.

She shook her head, determined not to worry too much. She would send a letter and ask. Staring out the window into the direction she knew her old home lay she wondered if they would grace her with an answer. Her mother and sister might, but if her father got hold of it first..

Grabbing a broom, she started to vigorously sweep the floor. The kitchen needed to be spotless. After sweeping and mopping it, she started to set the wood into the furnaces and heat the ovens and stoves. It took nearly two hours before she had all her morning tasks finished, just enough for the first colors of dawn to crawl across the horizon.

When the kettle whistled, she poured the scalding hot water into her teapot. Steeping some apple tea, she hesitated for a moment before she dropped the apple blossom atop of her tea. The beauty accompanied by the sweet fragrance of apples soothed her mind and she settled down by the table to enjoy the silence. Her mouth curling into a wistful smile as her thoughts drifted.

* * *

 **.oOo.**

"Ada.."

The king rolled in his bed, ears half buried beneath the covers. Legolas was not impressed, and without hesitation he climbed up on the large mattress, a finger inching over to poke his father's side.

"Go away, Legolas," Thranduil mumbled from underneath the covers. He did not move a muscle, as if trying makeLegolas lose interest in his sleeping form.

"Ada.. You promised," whined the Prince, in the way only an overgrown child could. Very irritatingly.

"And I can still keep that promise at a more sociable time of day."

His father really could be stubborn when he wanted to. "The oatmeal will turn to glue if we wait any longer."

Thanduil pulled the covers down a bit, clear blue eyes taking in the displeased look on his son's face. The solution to the problem was obvious. "Then I will order it remade."

Legolas slumped visibly before protesting. "But then it won't be Lona's!"

That caused the King to sit up in bed. His long blonde hair cascading around him. "Are you still hounding that poorelleth? I thought I told you to stay out of trouble."

"I am not hounding anyone, Ada. We are friends that simply like to eat breakfast at the same time of day," he stated with no small amount of annoyance.

"She has enough work as it is, Legolas. Do not add to her burden."

"Keeping each other company isn't that bad. Were both up, why not share the lonely morning together? he said averted his eyes from his father's steady gaze. He hated when he treated him like a child. But he despised it even more when his father tried to rule who can be his friend and who cannot.

The downcast expression tugged at Thranduil's heart. When had his son become so mature? He used a hand to smooth down Legolas's golden hair. "Fine. But only for a minute. I still have work to do in the morning."

The younger elf immediately brightened and bounced of the bed. "Can I bring my bow? You said you would show me how to shoot the one hundred feet target this time."

"Sure, my little Leaf," he said as he waved the enthusiastic elf off.

Drawing himself from the warm confines of his bed, he started to ready himself for his day. All the while he cursed the fact that his son was starting to realize the power he held over him.

He stopped mid wash and smiled.

 _Well.. Just this once._

A half hour later the duo could be found strolling down the halls and deep pathways of the Elvenking's halls.. Well more like the King walking and trying to calm an energetic Prince beside him. Most of the palace was still sleeping, and it was a nice contrast to the normally filled hallways buzzing with elves.

Thranduil listened to his son as he recounted his latest exploit with his bow; how the bird he had stalked had somehow deflected his arrow, leading him on a merry pursuit. The young one's eyes danced with life as he added more action to his tale by spicing up certain parts as he went along. Thranduil found he could listen to the lively voice for hours if he had the time. His youthful exuberance brought him more joy than he thought possible.

Legolas head suddenly perked into attention and he took a whiff at the air. "Oh! There are cookies too!"

The prince started to drag him more insistently down the hall, attempting to speed their progress. Thanduil only shook his head at his son's antics, wondering how his personality had managed to produce such a lively offspring. He knew better than to protest, an determined Legolas would not budge. No matter how unseemly being pulled down the hall was.

Seeing as his father was with him, Legolas actually bothered knocking on the kitchen doors. "Good morning, Lona," he said, searching the kitchen with his eyes for his friend.

The elleth poked her head up from behind one of the counters where she had filled one of their stores with flour. "Oh, good morning, little Leaf-" she stopped mid sentence seeing who stood behind him. Straightening, she dusted her hands off on her apron. "Your Highness. Good morning."

Legolas did not miss the sudden stiffness nor the change in demeanor that overcame his friend at the sight of his father. Throwing a glance back at the King, Legolas pulled him inside while smiling to try to ease some of the tension.

"Ada and I are to train with my bow today. I thought it best we get an early breakfast." He hesitated for a moment, before adding, "You won't mind, will you Lona?

Thranduil watched emotions pass over the auburn haired elleth's face as she rose from the small curtsy she had made him. Her hands fidgeted, she snatched some cutlery from the counter to try to hide some of her nervousness. She looked the same as she always had. The forest green dress and that ever-present braid. Her leafy green eyes hard in the light. Lona's face had softened somewhat since he had last seen her, but there was still a rigid tightness beneath it. She obviously hadn't expected him to visit.

"Of course not," she said with a neutral mien. "It is just.. We seldom have the King here to visit us, but if you think our simple breakfast will do, then by all means. Please.. "

The two men watched as she motioned to the simple table in the corner. The four chairs surrounding a round table a poor substitute for the King's table. Still, it was set with a clean white tablecloth and plates, bowls and other necessities that might be needed. Thranduil's eyes settled on the steaming glass teapot. The light pink tea inside drawing his attention.

"It is fine," Thranduil offered offhandedly, before moving towards the table. His bearing and stride confident as if it were his own rooms, rather than the palace kitchen he was in. Legolas silently filed in beside him, taking the window seat as was his custom. His form giddy, despite how hard he tried to hide it.

"Here Ada," Legolas said as he handed out a platter laid with fruit, before he thanked Lona as she brought them oatmeal.

She seated herself awkwardly opposite the king, so that Legolas was stuck firmly in between them, allowing her the range to rise in case something needed fetching. Thranduil, on his part, helped himself to the tea. The fruity smell revealed it to be raspberry tea. Sensing the prolonged silence, Thranduil tried to alleviate the awkward air between them.

"I see you are well, my Lady," he said, glancing at her through the corner of his long lashes.

Lona blinked, before checking herself. "Yes, my Lord."

He raised his chin slightly, blue eyes regarding her. "And your parents?"

Lona chose not to meet those haughty eyes. She knew all to well what hid behind them. Instead, she folded her hands in her lap, keeping as docile as possible. This was the king. Manners were important no matter how much it irked her. "They were well, when I last heard from them."

"Lona's parents live far off in the East forest," Legolas squeezed in, "In a flet almost as high up as the mountain itself. She says the birds often stop by to say hello to them."

The king raised a brow at the deflection, a grin threatening to pull on his lips. "I know very well where they live, son." He watched as Legolas drizzled a great amount of golden honey over the blueberries and porridge. "That is enough,Legolas."

The boy stayed his hand and set the honey jar back on the table. "Sorry. Honey, Lona?"

The elleth thanked him, but declined the offer. Her stomach was uneasy and she feared she would have a hard time eating. Adding sweet honey would only make it worse.

Lona felt very much out-of-place, sitting with the King and the Prince, alone in her private sphere. Or perhaps it was that the King was sitting in her kitchen that made her so uncomfortable. It had been a long time since she had a private audience with the king. Many years since she had been a couple of feet away from him. She barely knew this ellon. The one that had taken the crown after his father's death and turned into a whole new being. They said power changed a man, and in this instance, she could not help but agree. The cold visage he adopted in public helped him to keep other elves at a distance. But his arrogance was even worse.

There was a time when the invisible wall between them did not exist. When they had both been just young elves exploring the exciting woods and cared not for what others thought of them. There had been no Silvan or Sindar, only friends. No title to separate them. Remembering those carefree years reawakened the great loss within her, and sheclenched the fabric of her dress in one hand under the table.

"I want to thank you, Lady Lona." He said in that low steady voice he was famed for. That voice that commanded respect and fealty.

Her heart jolted at the words, causing her to raise her eyes timidly, only to find the King staring straight at her. His blue orbs did not watch her with the usual cold scrutiny, but instead softened, more like his son's than she had ever seen them before. Where was the aloof gaze? The carefully calculated distance they had kept the last millennia?

"My King?" she asked, uncertain. She did not dare question why the elf was acting so strangely to his face.

"I thank you, both for offering my son a place to spend his time and for being his friend. Helping him even though you have no obligation to do so," he paused, his forehead morphing out of its usual kingly façade, the stern and imperious lines disappearing. "I heard Legolas required your assistance with his latest surprise."

"Ada!"

Lona, however, did not see nor hear the embarrassment that washed over the Prince. No. She could not tear her eyes off the King's face.

There. An almost unnoticeable curl of his lips. A smile. It was so incredible to see one on his face, Lona started to think she was actually back in bed, dreaming. For surely, the proud Sindar king would not smile so carelessly in front of a simple Silvan maiden?

"I hope he is not too much of a trouble for you, and I apologise for any inconvenience he has caused you. He can be a little.. obstinate at times."

It was all too unreal, and Lona felt the need to set it all back to normal. She ducked her head, a hesitant smile reaching her own lips as she stopped him. "He is no trouble, really. In fact, he is quite a joy to have around."

Legolas, who had been busy trying to stop his father from embarrassing him further froze and gaped at the suddenly shy elleth beside him.

 _What in the-_

"Good," the king replied and sipped slowly on the tea. "Now, Legolas. If you plan on reaching the training fields any time this morning, we really should finish eating."

His father sent him that look again that told him to behave, causing the startled blonde to settle back in his chair, gaping mouth closing with a snap. The king was in a strangely good mood, and if it kept them happy he would behave. Even if he had a sneaking suspicion that his father was enjoying himself far too much.. The fact that he had not yet called him out once in his less than princely behavior only reinforced his suspicions.

Shoving down another spoon of sweet porridge, Legolas glanced at his friend. Lona was eating herself now, her hands peeling another apple with a small knife. She looked normal enough, though Legolas missed their carefree conversations they often had when he was there by himself. He did, however, try to ignore the light dusting of pink on her cheeks. The sight of it only opened up further questions for him. After all, he could not remember a single time he had seen her blush before.

Before long, their bowls were finished and Lona set about gathering the dishes and set them to soak in the sink. Legolaswaited patiently as his father drank the last of his third cup of tea. But his restlessness soon got the better out of him and in the end, he had to be led out of the kitchen by the King.

When he passed the doorway, he paused, pulling his father to a halt with him. Turning back to peer into the kitchen he met the surprised green eyes with a grin. "Can I have some of the cookies when I come back?" he asked as he eyed the baking tray hungrily.

Lona shook out the kitchen towel she had pulled off the tray and raised a brow at him. "Only if you actually hit the target this time."

Legolas lit up with the challenge and proclaimed proudly, "Of course, my Lady! See you soon."

The king let his eyes follow the boy down the hall, amusement on his face. He turned to face her, "Farewell, Lady Lona." His eyes told her without using words that he did not need her customary bow since she was busy preparing the trays.

She watched him turn to leave, his robes sweeping behind him, before saying softly, "Farewell, King Thranduil."

* * *

 **.oOo.**

 **A moonturn later..**

 _'Dear daughter._

 _My heart rejoices at hearing from you. I know that it is hard for you to write home, not knowing whatever mood your father is in, but know that your sister and I wait eagerly to hear from you none the less._

 _We are all well. I am still helping your father with the vineyard as the demand for medicine has been low of late. The sun and rain have been plentiful this year and we expect the yearly wine produce to increase substantially this year. I have already picked out some of our finest to send you. I know how you like our grapes so._

 _It will please you to hear that your sister has finally decided to make it official with Nendir. We would of course want you to partake in the bonding celebrations, and I extend the invitation on your sister's behalf, though we both understand if you find it hard to return to us in time for the festivities._

 _As you know, your father's temper is as fickle as the wind. But I can assure you that I will persuade him if you earnestly wish to come home. His pride has driven him for far too long. In all honesty, I think he is simply being stubborn since you decided to choose another ellon over him. He will turn around eventually, this animosity between you two need to stop. But I fear, without actually sitting down and speaking with him, there is little you will accomplish on that front. He misses you, as I know you do too. Will you not consider putting the past to rest between you?_

 _Regarding the spring flower gathering, I am not well-informed of the amounts Huoriel and the others have gathered since flower blooms have become harder and harder to find this far south. I will, however ask her and see what I can do about the matter._

 _Be safe and stay healthy,_

 _Hwinnlîr_

Lona reread the letter many times, her fingers tracing her mother's cursive script. It did not come as a surprise that she would answer her. Her father rarely wrote, nor did he willingly contact her by his own choice. The anger between them was still strong. He wanted her to cave in and come back begging for his forgiveness. For her to admit her wrongdoings, to regret her willingness to spurn her kin for the sake of the one she loved. She wanted him to understand her choices. To respect them and accept them for what they were. She could not turn back. Even if she wanted to.

Folding the letter, she placed it back in the envelope which carried the insignia of her mother. The leaf tinted parchment marked permanently with the proud nightingale of their tribe.

At times Lona wondered how her life would have turned out if she had not met him. If she had passed the time of her visit to the capital without running into him. Without him reaching out to help her up from the ground.

She released a dry laugh as she concentrated on his face from her memories. The young, unmarred beauty that drew her in despite the muddy streaks across his face. The way his brows rose and his eyes danced with amusement as she accused him of bumping into her on purpose. The curl of his lips as he asked her forgiveness, even though they both knew he never meant one bit of the apology.

No. Ever since she was a small elfling listening to the wisdom of her elders seated on her grandfather's knee she had believed in paths. She knew that if it was fate, there was nothing that could pull you off your path fate had bestowed upon you. She had been meant to find him that day, to fall for him and ultimately to lose him. It was how it was supposed to be.

For what purpose? She did not yet know. But if she did not believe in fate, how would she continue on?

"Bad news?"

Lona looked up and tilted her head in question at the silent butler. "What are you doing here?"

Galion strode forward, seating himself opposite her at the kitchen table. With his head perched on his propped up arm, he held up a finger. "Just wondering why you are sitting here, all by yourself, instead of being outside and enjoying the fruit of your labors."

She raised a brow, "I could ask you the same. Has the King dismissed you for the evening?"

He drew himself up, surprised, "How did you know?"

"Because you would not be here but standing by his side had you not been dismissed of your duties," she said, amused.

Galion chuckled, "You know me all too well, my Lady."

She smiled back at him, joining in on his mirth. She guessed it was nice to have company after all. It was a nice end to a hard days work. She had originally planned on spending the eve in the peace of her kitchen, far off from the celebrations. The Closing of the Harvest was too grand for her, she preferred watching it from a distance instead. Seeing the elves enjoy themselves always got her in a good mood, especially since the Closing of Harvest was the third most celebrated festival for the woodelves. It was all about enjoying life and its blessings.

Galion watched as she studied the lights shimmering out in the wood. The music could be heard all the way inside and the spicy scent of the bonfires filled their senses through the window despite their remote location. He could see a glint of something in her eyes and it was not from the candle light in front of her.

Swallowing, he cleared his throat, "Actually, I was going to ask you for a dance."

It took a moment for the words to register, and when they did Lona studied the elf before her. The extravagant but dark clothing which flattered his faintly golden skin, the dark hair braided perfectly with five braids that interlaced before sloping down his back. She blushed at the sight, averting her gaze quickly. "I do _not_ dance."

Now it was Galion's time to look unimpressed. "I have seen you dance before, my Lady."

"You are wearing your 'open' braid and you still ask this of me?" Lona argued. She could not believe this was happening. It was not _supposed_ to happen.

Galion's eyes softened for a second, his hand reaching up to run down one of the long braids. "You are wearing your 'free' braids as you have done for as long as I have known you."

Her eyes flashed dangerously, but she did not answer the taunt. "It is a matter of circumstance, not choice."

Galion reached out to place his hand on the table half-way across, taking the initiative, but not forcing her hand. "And I am asking for a simple dance. Nothing more, nothing less," he said calmly.

He watched her sit stubbornly, her arms crossed as she seemed to contemplate her answer. Sighing, he added, "We are friends, are we not?"

Lona faced him, her eyes searching his as her hand, while hesitant, moved to cover his. Her lips thinned in dismay, "You do realize that this is utterly inappropriate? We are alone here.."

Galion smirked as he rose from his chair, dragging her up with him. "You should realize that we are both well over three millennia, not elflings."

She pushed at him weakly, the force not causing him to stumble, but it was enough to get her point across. He took her hands in his, his dark eyes staring down at her with a secretive smile on his lips. "Do not worry. You will leave this room with your innocence and integrity intact."

Slowly, they started to move on the floor. The duo's small swaying movements changed in time with the music. Galionturned them around in a continuous small circle, the light from the kitchen furnace illuminating their forms. Lona took a faulty step and Galion cried out softly, but kept his grip on her waist steady.

"Sorry," she said with a smirk of her own, her eyes gleaming with hidden purpose. "I did not _mean_ to step on it. I was simply distracted by the wandering hand."

"Well that would be my fault," he chuckled softly as he winked at her, drawing a blush from her. "You do dance well, despite the deliberate stomping."

"Thank you," she said as she kept her eyes on their feet, unable to meet the intense gaze of her friend. "Galion.. You do know that I cannot.."

"Yes," he stopped her words, "I am aware that your heart is no longer available. That no matter how hard I try it will not be swayed from its path."

He looked down at her shorter form, his eyes appraising the way her auburn hair turned into fire before his eyes. How her forest green eyes assimilated the light and made them glow like spring leaves in the sun.

His voice turned into a low whisper, his eyes closing as to save her image in his mind, "Just.. let me live in the illusion of it for another moment. Let me imagine that we are dancing around the bonfire outside; with you in my arms for all the others to see, that your eyes shine with starlight only for me.

Lona could say nothing to that, nothing that would ease the ache inside him. No words could heal a broken heart, it was something she knew from experience. She moved her hands to his shoulders, her feet still moving to the music before she rose up on her tip toes, pressing a fleeting chaste kiss to the corner of his lips.

She decided to ignore the small gasp that escaped his lips as she retreated from him. Their forms stilled as the dance stopped. Light burned in his eyes as he opened them to the world again and she felt the pull for warmth, for intimacy. A longing she had not answered since so long ago. She smoothed out the creases in her dress nervously, before she turned her face up to his.

"I hope your imagination proved to be all you hoped for," she said softly, her cheeks still hot from her earlier act of bravery.

Galion stared intently at her, his hands still resting on her waist as he tried to calm his racing heart. His voice, slightly rough with emotion, took a moment before it dared to voice his thoughts out loud:

"Yes. Only far sweeter."

* * *

 **.oOo.**

"I have been asked to attend a Coming of Age celebration."

"Oh?"

Faelwen sighed, seeing that Lona distracted. They were both cleaning cherries, removing the stone so that they could be cooked and made into preserves for the winter. It was tedious work, but she would rather be doing it than washing dishes.

"Your parents will be happy to have you home," Tanna said quietly from where she stood scrubbing a pot.

"I do _not_ want to go home," she said determinedly. "It is always the same. 'Have you met someone? When are you getting married?' Ever since I've passed the three hundred mark they continue to remind me that time is ticking and should I not start looking for a husband."

"All parents want to see their children happy, Faelwen." Lona scooped another batch of berries into her bowl. Her face calm, but her eyes focused on the girl. "They only want what they think is best for you."

"Marrying is not going to make anything better. Especially if they try to force Tatharion on me."

"Tatharion? Isn't he the elfling you used to play with?" Lona asked, confused.

"I watched him for his parents during the harvest, yes. But that was years ago. It is his celebration I am invited to." She shook her head, dispelling the thought of the small child she had taken care of. That elfling had grown into a tall and willowy elf worthy of his name. "He's been infatuated with me these last two years. Ever since I visited at the summer solstice two years ago."

She sighed and turned pleading eyes in their direction. "I just know he will ask me to give him his honor's kiss."

Lona stopped her fiddling with the cherries and looked at her, surprised. Tanna, however, was not so silent about her opinion.

"That is so romantic!" she breathed with her eyes turning dreamy. "I remember my honor's kiss. There weren't anyellon in my age group. But I think my choice was good, I still blush remembering it."

"Any ellon choosing you as the ceremony partner would be lucky to have you." Lona said seriously. "But if he truly holds you in such a high regard, it makes the ritual even better since he's serious. You are the one bestowing his first step into adulthood, after all. Being chosen is an honor in itself."

"But I do not feel for him that way!" Faelwen protested. She did not want to kiss him nor any other elf. Flashes of PrinceLegolas danced before her eyes, leaning in over with his sparkling blue eyes.

A heavy blush creeped up Faelwen's cheeks and Tanna sent her a look. She knew exactly the feeling the girl was imagining. For she too had those flutters of thoughts when she talked to Calanon.

"Besides, you can leave it as a quick peck if you want to," Tanna said, drawing out a chair to sit on. "He cannot force you to do anything you do not want. You are the one in control."

Faelwen visually drooped. Her mind knew the logic in it, but her heart did not like the betrayal such an action meant. "It's just," she shook her head not believing she was actually contemplating it, "I thought that my second kiss would be with someone I actually _want_ to kiss."

"The prince won't kiss you," Lona said seriously, a hard edge to her voice. Faelwen jumped a little in her seat. "And even if he entered the phase where such a fancy would interest him, and he was allowed to entertain such an act, you would have to stand in line with the other hundreds of elleth waiting for that honor."

She watched Faelwen's face drop. But Lona felt the need to be harsh on the dreaming girl. She was seeing the world through tinted glass, and in matters of the hearts one needs to see clearly. Because love with take every chance it gets to blind you.

"This infatuation you have with the Prince is a nice thing. But we have stay realistic," she reached out for her hand, her eyes burdened with what she had to say. "He is a Prince, Faelwen. A _prince_. The king's halls are not part of a fairytale where Prince Legolas rides in and sweeps you off your feet to ride off into the sunset. That is not how it works."

She straightened, leveling herself with a deep breath. "I do not say that you should jump at the very first elf that ask you for a dance. For your heart is a most precious gift and not to be handled lightly. But do not close off your heart before you know that your affection is returned."

Lona ignored the burning gaze that Tanna threw her. She felt like a hypocrite saying these words, but if there was something to be learned from living this long, it was that choosing right, no matter the circumstances, could hurt in the end. Which is why one should consider matters carefully before deciding on things which cannot be changed. If Faelwendecides that an unfulfilled love is what she desires, then she cannot sway her. For that would be her choice. ButFaelwen is young, and without seeing what is around her, how will she know it is the proper choice for her? She had not even approached the Prince with her feelings yet.

Tanna inclined her head, her light blonde hair sweeping in to shield her. Her own thoughts rumbled inside her head and she knew exactly what Lona was trying to say. For it was a matter that had plagued her recently, something that she still felt conflicted about when she became insecure in her feelings. After all, love was always a big step in an elf's life.

Her lips fluttered for a moment, as if gathering the right words. Raising her head, Tanna said to Faelwen what her mother once said to her. "Be careful with your heart, Faelwen. Because elves only love once in their long lives. Do not utter such words of certainty until you are perfectly sure of your feelings."

The girl's eyes widened. Her companions both looked serious, their faces all lost in their own turmoil. Faelwen never felt smaller in the world than in that instant. "But how do I know what is right?"

"That.." Lona said, her voice eerie, as if a sudden cold had swept into the room and made her recoil into her own being. Clinging for warmth. "Is something you have to determine yourself. Because only you know what truly lies in your heart."

* * *

 **#To be continued...**

* * *

 **Braids**

'Free' braid – unmarried elleth/ellon past majority.

'Open' braid – unmarried and open for possible relationship. As in actively seeking. Often used to discretely show interest.


	3. Chapter 3

**.oOo.**

Chapter 3 – Creeping shadows

 **.oOo.**

* * *

Summer was at its best. She had forgotten how the world outside the Elvenking's halls felt. She relished in the feel of the warm sun on her face. The way the trees would caress her thoughts and speak of what had happened since they had last spoken to each other. It was a good day indeed to be outside.

Holding her basket close on her arm, she meandered down into the market. Though most bought their wares straight from the supplier or simply grew and made them themselves, the Sindar had introduced the idea of keeping shop once every week in the middle of the capital. It had turned out to be quite the success. Even the Silvans living close to the King's halls visited, though most only did because it became a good source for palace gossip.

"Lona!"

She winced, hearing the familiar voice of Rhiwsûl. She gathered her wits about her, steeling herself for the looming conversation.

"Rhiwsûl," she greeted, voice flat.

The tall but muscular male drew to a stop beside her. His long 'free' braid swinging behind him like dark rope. Seeing the lack of warrior braids in his hair, she groaned inwardly.

 _He is off duty then.. I suppose that makes things far worse,_ she thought sourly.

"Lady Lona," he brought her hand up to his lips. "Fancy seeing you here in our midst. The King finally let you out of his halls?"

"I am free to leave whenever it pleases me," she said curtly. "I do not need the King's permission to do so."

"Forgive me, I did not mean to anger you." The elf turned his forest green eyes on her, that familiar shrewd glint in them raised goosebumps on her skin. "One only tend to think that something holds you bound to those caves, since you seldom visit the woods anymore."

He circled her slowly as she pushed forward on her way, eager to be rid of his company. But as usual he was a hard elf to shake. "How is his Majesty? I cannot seem to get a time for an audience."

"The King is healthy and whole, as far as I know," she said carefully, wary of the lurking darkness in his eyes.

"It is good to hear," Rhiwsûl sneered, straightening to his full height again as he settled into step beside her. Elves were beginning to notice now, and it simply would not do to draw unnecessary attention to themselves. He continued leisurely, his head moving from stall to stall.

"And what about the _princeling_?" he asked darkly. His eyes boring into her and surveying her every move.

Lona stopped in her tracks, her face hardening. "Do not presume that I have any obligation to tell you anything, Rhiwsûl. Do not drag me into your dubious affairs." Her eyes flashed, steel working its way into them. "I have had enough of the likes of you. Keep your trouble to yourself and be gone."

"Feisty," he drawled behind her, trailing her as he watched her stiff form continue down the road. "I wonder what your father would say about you displaying such behavior towards your kin."

"You are not my kin," she spat back at him, no longer bothering to hide her revulsion with the other elf. Her insides were crawling and she was sure that he was leering at her. She could feel his stare at the back of her head. Lona hastened her steps as much as possible without causing visible concern. She needed to get to the market and fast. Crowded places had always deflected Rhiwsûl's advances. Especially since doing something out in public was impossible.

A hand gripped her 'free' braid and she jerked into a stop. She muffled the cry from the pain, but she had to struggle to push down the ensuing tears. Her breath stuck to her lungs, her body too stiff to move.

Heat moved over her neck as his head leaned down by her ear, whispering, "I am more _kin_ to you than that pompous _King_ of yours and his _followers_."

Poison dripped off his tongue and the dark drawl made her heart beat in a furious panic. He smirked as he saw her pale face, knowing what effect he had on her."You will do well to remember that, Lona."

She almost stumbled when he released her. The tension in her body driving her forwards and as far away from him as possible. As she fled, she cast a glance behind her. Rhiwsûl stood unmoving where she had left him. Lean body relaxed as if he was simply pausing on his stroll. But his head held high and his eyes dark with malice. She shivered at the sight, the memory of his hand around her braid shaking her deeply.

It was a hateful feeling. _Fear_.

Flitting between the stalls and putting as much space and matter possible between them, she could finally feel her heartbeat return to normal. But it would never be normal. Because Rhiwsûl would never be a normal elf.

 _'I wonder what your father would say about displaying such behavior towards your kin.'_

She gripped the handle of her basket tight, her hands shaking with the force.

Lona needed to get out. She needed the open air of the wood. Decided, she dodged stalls and vendors, even the elves' futile attempts to try to stop her for conversation.

She could not. Not now.

In minutes, she had left the market and the sparce flet housing around the Elvenking's Halls. Only the high trees of the wood surrounded her now and she felt her breath return to her. She bathed in the peace that only the wood could offer her. A simple touch to the trunk of a large oak let her know she was safe. No one had followed her. She collapsed beside it. Allowing its comforting presence sooth her.

It was not until minutes – hours? – later that she realized where her feet had led her. Her eyes watered as she sat beneath the tree, her eyes staring at the small brook bubbling down the slope, dancing between trees. Looking up, she watched the thick trunk and heavy bows above her.

 _Their tree_.

It had grown thick and sturdy, and sported patches of green lichen hanging from its branches. It had changed over the years just like she too had changed. But at its core, the whisper of its heart was still the same sing-song of leaves and birds and joy. So much laughter.

 _Have you missed me?_

She rested her hand against a thick root that protruded from the ground, the twisted limb almost cradling her form where she sat. As if sensing her nostalgia the oak started singing to her. Years and years of tales: Of days leaping over the bubbling brook. Of dancing heartily beneath its bows. Of that first shy kiss hidden while nestled high up in its branches, with only the sky, the birds and the trees around them their witnesses.

 _I have missed you... I miss him._

The bows bent in the wind, causing rustles of leaves that gave her comfort. Its dancing branches moved as if to agree with her.

 _You miss him too._

She leaned back more firmly, wedging herself in between the roots like a child sitting at the feet of her mother. Her hair caught on the rough bark for a moment as she slid down the trunk and made her laugh. A soft, tinkling laughter she had not uttered since she last visited this place. It made her feel young and brave and ready to take on the world again. She felt renewed.

The magic of the wood had touched her once again, and her Silvan blood rejoiced at feeling the link. She had missed this. She missed her old life.

Blinking up at the dancing canopy she let her thoughts wander. She relived the centuries, turning back time until her being turned attuned to the forest itself. She breathed as the forest breathed, and all that mattered was the connection. Because the trees were old but wise; their memories long and unforgiving. But these trees had shared her life, her joys and sorrows. She was not lonely anymore for the forest kept her company.

Thus, despite how bad the day had started she found herself smiling. Because no matter how dark it was around her, as long as she kept the memories alive, light would continue to live in her heart.

The dark could not reach her.

* * *

 **.oOo.**

"Is something wrong Lady Lona?"

She froze in the door opening to the servants quarters. She had returned late, far later than she had expected to. Now, she regretted her little escape out of the palace. It had cost her far more time than she had to spare.

"No, everything is fine." Lona could tell that the young servant girl, who was preparing herself for the evening service, did not believe her. Looking down on her dirtied clothing, she saw the leaves and other forest remnants that had found their way onto her attire. It would make her suspicious as well to see her in such a state.

Lona smiled, trying to reassure the girl, "I took a walk though the wood on my way back."

The girl, a Sindar girl who served the King's sister usually, cocked her head in disbelief but nodded and left without further enquiry. Probably blaming her exterior on the Silvan wild ways again. It did not bother her though. Lona would let the girl think what she want, not wishing to go into details with a simple serving maid.

Quickly entering her rooms, she changed into a clean dress. She would have liked to bathe to remove the feel of Rhiwsûl off of her, but a simple wash up would have to do. Her hair was a mess, but one easily fixed. Soon she was striding determinedly down the corridors, eyes fixed on her goal.

"Lona!" Faelwen said surprised once she entered the kitchen. The room was a blur of motions, aides and cooks moving all over the place. She was surprised to see that the chaos had been somewhat contained and that the dinner preparations were well in motion by the time she got in.

Donning one of her spare aprons that hung on a peg fastened to the kitchen wall, she checked the different dishes already being prepared. The soup for the starter was on time. The stock flavorful but not too salty. She nodded in approval to her assistant cook attending it, the woman bloomed happily at her praise.

"Lona," Faelwen said as she came up and offered her a piece of the bread she had baked. The scent of fenol caught her attention, and Lona broke of a piece. Nervously, Faelwen watched with bated breath as she sampled the fluffy bread, "How is it?"

"It is very good. You made this yourself?"

"Yes. Tanna said that it would suit the fish," Faelwen said, not about to steal all the glory for herself.

"Did she?" Lona questioned with delight. "Well she is right."

"Lady Lona, please come and check the fish seasoning."

She moved across the room to where the fish was being prepared in long trays with salt, lemon and other spices. Tanna stood by the large sink, cleaning the scales of the trout they had gotten from trade with a small fishing community the elves called Esgaroth. Checking the consistency of the mixture, Lona added just a bit more fennel into the seasoning trays.

"You look tired," Tanna said softly, her hands working a knife swiftly to scrape of scales.

Lona inclined her head, "Nothing to worry about. It has been a long time since I have been outside, the extra walking must have taken its toll on me."

Tanna glanced at her, not really convinced but decided to let the matter rest. She watched transfixed for a moment as Lona wielded the fillet knife elegantly, the strokes even and precise. It was a dangerous tool, one Tanna had yet to master properly herself. Lona had always imparted the importance of being careful when filleting, since a slip of the hand could cause you serious harm with the sharpness of that razor-like blade.

Cautious as to not startle her, Tanna asked, "You did not, perhaps, meet Rhiwsûl outside the palace?"

She watched Lona pale, her hand ceased its motions, leaving the knife hand trembling faintly. But her shock was quickly overcome, her stunned face effortlessly smoothed over to hide her distress from view. Tanna, though, knew what she had seen. Lona's reaction was understandable, in her opinion. Tanna herself had not had many good experiences with the infamous Silvan captain either. But he had always been polite in her company, if not a bit cold.

"Why do you ask?" Lona asked, her voice wavering slightly as a sign of her increasing nerves.

Tanna set a hand on Lona's forearm, steadying her. "He came by the servants quarters this morning asking for you. You know he rarely ventures into the halls. What cause could he possibly have to seek you out?"

"Nothing good, that I assure you." For once Lona was glad that most of the younger elves were blissfully unaware of Rhiwsûl's true nature and the part he had to play in their society. Even the King, as knowledgeable and well-informed as he was knew little about his workings, especially since the elf was ever careful not to show his intentions around Galion. If Lona's father had not been an old acquaintance of Rhiwsûl, she was sure she would have been as oblivious to it all as most others.

"Well, I find it disquieting the way he seems to think he can barge in here and ask for you as if he is calling a simple serving girl." Tanna huffed indignantly, "He may be a higher captain of the guard, but he is not nobility."

"Trust me," Lona said in a calming tone, sounding far more sure than she felt at the moment. "He will not be seeking me out again. Rhiwsûl quickly looses interest in such things."

"If you say so.." Tanna replied, still trying to forget those demanding cold eyes he had leveled her with. The elf was frightening, in a predatory sense. Like a wild animal stalking its prey. Luckily, Rhiwsûl rarely bothered with elves of lower tribes. His interest in Lona was understandable, since she was heir to her mother's tribe, one of the Three. But Tanna did feel a bit uneasy to have the elf sniffing around their living quarters. It was most queer, even for an elf of his stature.

Returning to her work, they continued in silence. Faelwen's happy tune lingered in the air, a jolly song about the ancient Lord of the Wood, his princess and the magical adventures they had together. Lona smiled, wondering how such a childish tune could be so uplifting. Then again, most of the workers would join in on the refrain, laughing afterwards at their own foolishness. Only Thalion shook his head in his corner, a reluctant smile on his face.

* * *

 **.oOo.**

She shooed the servers away as she portioned out the last of the desserts. Dinner service was the most hectic part of the day, and with the increase of guests in the Realm due to the Starlight festival, she needed all hands on deck to get everything out in time.

Lona took a last scrutinizing look over Tanna; her green dress was elegant, her serving apron pristine and clean-cut. Her hands were clean and her face bright as she stood before her.

"How do I look?"

"Almost perfect," Lona said, before spinning her around and adjusting her braids. The long blonde hair that usually cascaded freely down her back was tied up at the moment into delicate braids. It would not do to have her hair interfering with her work. Lona straightened the braids, pulling some of the hair back but still allowing most of it to frame her youthful face. "There, fit for the King's table."

"Lona," Tanna hesitated, before asking for the third time that evening, "Are you sure its a good idea assigning me the King's table?"

"Don't worry," she said, "Thalion serves the King as usual. You will simply oversee matters, so that all is organized. It is a simple, but very important task."

She held the girl's shoulders for a second, her face turning soft with a sudden surge of maternal pride seeing the determination on Tanna's face. "I know I can trust you. This is my thanks to you, Tanna, for keeping the kitchen running."

The assistant cooks did not come to work until three hours before service, and only her aides were present to do the more menial tasks of prepping the kitchen. Faelwen had pulled her aside earlier and told her how Tanna had assumed leadership of their small group, since she was the oldest of her aides, when Lona did not return in time. Thus, it was thanks to Tanna's quick thinking that everything was done according to schedule. Her stepping up and assuming responsibility had spared Lona a lot of grief today.

Thus, it felt only right that Tanna would get the honor of organizing the King's table today. Normally, Lona or one of her more senior cooks would take care of it. Serving the table was not as hard as seeing to it that all ran smoothly. The King was firm on procedure, and it would not do to have their honored guests waiting for food because the servers were unable to serve them all at the same time. Tending the high table was an honor indeed, one Lona thought Tanna could manage easily if given the chance. She was a responsible elleth, one she had taught as her own over the years. It would be no trouble for her and hopefully, Tanna would grow more sure of herself as a result of tonight.

Tanna visibly glowed at the praise, and with a nod, she slipped out of the kitchen, heading towards the corridors leading to the upper halls, where the evening feast was to be held.

Lona stood watching the door, her face smiling as she let the silence of the kitchen surround her.

"The grow up so fast."

* * *

 **.oOo.**

"You would return for me?"

"Of course. I do not think anything less than a royal order or a balrog could stop me from seeing you."

Tanna lowered her head, glad that she had kept her 'free' braid loose today. The blonde curtain easily hid her burning cheeks from view, a small comfort as the rest of her struggled to keep the joy from taking over. It also served another task. Calanon had admitted during one of their past encounters that he liked her hair loose. It was the reason she tried to keep it so most of the time, but kitchen work was not always favorable to such a hairstyle. Thus small braids encased most of it, making it manageable but still like a stream of silver down her face and shoulders.

"Come now," Calanon said with a smile, lifting her face with his fingers so that she could not hide from him. "Do I frighten you?"

"Of course not," Tanna spoke softly, her nerves trickling into her voice and making it quiver slightly.

"It is just.." she did not have the words. Her tongue seemed to abandon her at the most important of times. Her hands dug deeper into the flowing fabric of her green dress, conflicted. How could she ask what she wanted?

Before she could decide warm hands settled over hers, loosening their cramp-like hold and pulling them into his own. Calanon hesitated, as he was wont to do whenever he was this close to her. His voice always seemed to fail him when he looked into her blue eyes. But the look on her face told him that she felt as uncomfortable with this as he was.

Why was it so hard to act on his feelings?

"Tanna... I..."

She raised her eyes. Calanon's handsome, kindly face stared down at her. His light blonde hair still hung in their customary warrior braids. They made him look more fierce, more brave than the normally kind soul was. He was a captain, a high member of the guard, but outside of the field Tanna knew that he could be the most caring person there is. Gentle and soft-spoken, a true gentleman.

Tanna had been happily surprised when Calanon caught her on her way to the upper halls. His tall form stood dressed in his captain gear, his sword hanging by his side. The poor elf looked so rushed, but he still took the time to seek her out. To step out of his way to give her a few comforting words and a promise of his return.

It made butterflies dance in her stomach. A warmth had settled in her seeing his adoring gaze and she wished she could always drown in those eyes.

They stood to the side in one of the more sparsely lit intersecting hallways. She could hear the servers moving through the main corridor, carrying trays and jugs to serve in the dining hall. Any minute now someone could happen upon them, so open was their location. Being shy herself, she understood his hesitation.

Still, it was somewhat thrilling, meeting secretly like this. Her mind, ever firmly attached to the ideals of her kin knew that it was more than inappropriate, what they were doing. But not even the promise of a harsh scolding stopped her from wishing there would be something more.

Thus, despite the flutters she felt, she forced herself to relax. Leaning back against the stone wall behind her she watched Calanon silently debate with himself.

 _What are you thinking?_

Tinkling of a bell sounded from the hall, reaching out to the serving staff. Tanna sighed with obvious regret in her eyes. She hated to do this, but time was slipping from their fingers whether they wished it or not.

"I am in charge of the King's table tonight. I cannot delay.." Tanna said, her whole being drooping like a flower left too long in the sun. She had been put in charge on Lona's good confidence. She was expected to perform. She knew of the head cook's call for perfection when it concerned the King's table and it had been a great sign of trust to give such a responsibility to her. Tanna could not let Lona down now.

But...

Tanna bit her lip, the action chasing away some of the fog clouding her mind. She needed to get moving but she could not find it in her to go. Not now when Calanon was here.

A quick clench of her fingers were all the warning she had before Calanon pulled her forward. His arms wrapped around her and held her too him. Tanna didn't dare breathe as she stood wide-eyed in his embrace. Her cheek pressed softly against his shoulder, the smell of soft suede and leather filled her nostrils. A few strands of silky hair brushed against her skin and filled her senses with all that was Calanon; a hint of peppermint and clear, spring woods.

She raised a hesitant hand to cling to his suede tunic. Her heart threatening to beat out of control from the mere proximity alone. But she was not the only one. Because here, in this position she could also feel his heart.

"Can you hear it?" Calanon asked, his voice low but smooth. She could feel the words reverberate though his chest, dancing together with his wild heartbeat. "Every single beat is for you, Tanna."

His fingers combed down through her hair, his head leaning in over her as he shielded her from view of the other hallway as the servants ran past. He took a deep breath to steady himself before saying, "I dare not ask you to wait for me. But I promise that you are the first one I shall seek out when I return."

He could not bear parting from her. It was like cutting a limb from his own body, leaving him empty and missing her smiling face in the quiet hours of the day. When he was assigned a six week long patrol along the southern border he knew he needed to seek her out. He just had to see her once more before leaving. To gaze upon her beautiful face with those blue eyes that seemed to pull him further into them with each glance. To trace that dainty little nose and those oh so soft looking lips. Calanon had tried to muster his courage before meeting her, but all had fled him as he had laid eyes on her. Now he stood before her, bare and vulnerable. Longing for her, but fearing what these strong emotions were doing to him.

"You need not promise me anything," Tanna breathed as she peered up at him, taking in his sharp, masculine features. She whispered quietly, "Because I will be standing by the gate when you return. To wait for you to emerge from the trees. Even if you want me to or not."

His face flushed red at the words, his head leaning just a bit closer.

She was already closing her eyes when the dinner bell starting the feast sounded, followed by the whoosh of the great dining hall doors opening to allow the loud discussions and happy conversations from within to trickle out. Their forms froze, stopping for a second as if to extend their time until their inevitable separation.

Alas, far too soon Calanon reluctantly released her, pulling away awkwardly as she stumbled trying to regain her balance without his steady support. His pleading eyes met hers momentarily and she nodded, reaching out to brush her fingers against his briefly, a small consolation to their longing hearts, before joining the stream of servers into the hall.

In silence Calanon stood as an ever watching shadow behind her as she disappeared down the corridor. His eyes never leaving her form.

 _Tanna..._

* * *

 **.oOo.**

"I have drawn your bath, Sire."

"Thank you, Galion." He allowed the butler to help him with his robe. The thick silver fabric was heavy, and he would be glad to be out of it. Dinner had been a sweltering affair, but decorum called for his finer fabrics today. It had been a merry start to the festival, and his elves had outdone themselves preparing for it. "You will convey my thanks to the kitchens. Today's fish was extraordinary."

"I will, Sire." Galion set the robe aside to be taken care of later. Instead helping his lord to step into the bath.

Thranduil sighed in pleasure as the warm water swallowed his skin. It soothed his weary muscles and all tension from dinner left him. The days had been gloomy of late, yet the feast had raised his mode somewhat. But now, when all distractions left him, it once again floated to the forefront of his mind. "The darkness is growing."

"Aye, Sire." Galion fiddled with the braids holding that magnificent whitegold hair together. The strands slipping through his fingers like silk once set free from their confines.

"Am I wrong, to send out troops?" Thranduil's eyes closed, trusting those firm fingers as they wet then washed his hair. "Even if it is weak, I would sooner squash it down now than wait until whatever is festering there has grown too strong to conquer."

Galion remained silent, knowing his place in such matters. The butler was a good listening ear, but he knew that whatever the king entrusted to his knowledge was also expected to be treated with the greatest of care. The king had his advisors, knowledgable elves to run his thoughts with. But at times like these, Galion knew what the king needed the most was to vent.

Thranduil shifted in the large tub, his long legs stretching out as he sank deeper into the waters so that Galion may rinse his hair properly. It was so like his habit, this routine, that he found himself floating in his thoughts more than he would have liked. As it was, only the heaviest thoughts stirred when he was this exhausted.

"How would you feel, if I sent your son out to the south?"

Galion stilled his hands as he washed his King's strong back. "I beg your pardon, my Lord. But I have no son."

Thranduil turned his head faintly to glance at him. "Humor me."

The butler fell silent in contemplation, his hands resuming its scrubbing. The long tresses fell down Thranduil's front to pool at his waist, but the king was too wrapped up in those strong hands on his back to notice. A soft sigh of pleasure was the only indication he was indeed awake, and not sleeping.

At last, Galion seemed to have thought up an answer. "I do not know, my Lord. War always make a parent anxious. If I had a son, I would respect his wishes, but I would also fear what could happen to him."

"And if your king ordered your sons out to war, yet kept his own safe in his palace?" Thranduil's voice ran low, as if a horrid fear had grabbed hold of him. Yet, it soon chilled back into the familiar coldness it usually held. "Would you still offer up your blood without question? Would you give your sons to such a king?"

Galion felt like the answer had already been made for him. For how dare he refuse his king? Yet, in a small corner of his heart he knew that was not what the king asked of him. Thanduil craved an honest reply. Something that his many advisors and captains would not give him.

The king was tense beneath his hands and Galion sensed that this question was of far more weight than a mere hypothetical question. Uncertainty swirled within him, but his silvan blood stirred at the thought of what was asked of him.

Would he send out his children to die for a king that valued his son's life more than those of his own offspring? His eyes closed and a surge of cold anger swept through him at the thought of his hypothetical children – his and Lorna's sons – lying in a pool of dark blood in the forest. Dead due to an order from the crown. For a king that would make no sacrifices of his own.

Galion swallowed, tone raw but controlled as he said in an eerily calm voice, "I honestly do not know, my King."

A dead, dry laugh answered him, resonating against the carved stone walls of the bathing area. It sent chills down Galion's spine and he almost dropped the washcloth hearing it.

A flurry of water splashed over the surface as Thranduil clenched his hand around the soapy bubbles floating before him. His face a blank mask of cold indifference. Yet, something about the way his words sounded told Galion that the calm exterior was perhaps not as honest as it would seem.

"I thought so."

* * *

 **.oOo.**

The morning after the feast and the days of the week that followed were emptier than normal, and it took her a moment to figure out what was missing. But it was not until one morning when she caught herself setting two bowls instead of one that she realized it.

 _Where is that boy?_

Days had passed, and while it was not unusual for the Prince to lose his way while wandering the palace, his stomach would eventually lead him down here anyway. Yet, for a whole week, there had been no sign of him. Nor where there any orders for snacks or sweets coming down from the upper residencies. Not even for tea.

She blew on her tea, trying to draw comfort from the familiar scent. It was not often that she prepared flower tea for herself, but somehow she found herself doing it anyway. She skipped porridge, and went straight for tea instead, the liquid calming her uneasy stomach.

Things had been different lately ever since a large patrol left south. That part of the Greenwood was mostly silvan territory, but few lingered there anymore. Unrest lay within those bows and their silvan blood communicated the nervousness of the trees. The old trees would not say what it was that unsettled them so, nor could the elves explain it themselves. But slowly, even the most hard-headed Silvans started to creep north. Something unheard of since the Great Journey.

Even now, the whispers reached the kitchens. Snippets of talk brought down by the servants, who like most Silvans, looked upon the development with a weariness they had not felt for an age. The younger ones spurred the flames, and their elders did their best to contain them. But talk had a tendency to leak despite their efforts and soon, word reached the outside ears as well.

Lona sighed, knowing that these tidings were not going to be looked over by her elders. As part of the Three, she had a responsibility towards her kin. Yet, at times, she wished those who drove these matters took charge before it got too out of hand. The Valar know that there are enough sharks waiting to jump at even the smallest of sparks.

She raised her eyes, when a rumpled Galion entered, his hair still worn loose and his collar unfastened. Lona could tell from the circles beneath his eyes that the previous night had been long-drawn yet he was already up at the bare hint of dawn.

She set her cup on the table, and the sound alerted him of her presence.

"Lady Lona." His fingers hastily fiddled with his buttons, and his cheeks heated as he failed to perform such a simple task under her curious gaze.

She shook her head, steering past him before ordering him to sit. He did, begrudgingly so, muttering about schedules and the like, which caused an indulgent smile grow on her face hearing them. She set a bowl before him drizzled with honey and milk and topped with a generous dollop of apple sauce in the middle.

"Eat."

"Aye, my Lady."

He ate in his usual collected manner, acting like a king partaking in the most succulent feast. It made her smile, knowing he appreciated her porridge more than anything the royals ate. He was a humble Silvan elf and she would not deny it that a part of her was relieved he was like her. There was no need for veils and shallow words between them, they were both servants and yet they did not related to each other as such.

 _Kindred of my kin._

Even if distant, their families knew each other from the first trees they lived in. The forest had no borders, yet each knew where they belonged. Galion was yet another elf who had been born into the lace work of trees. She could relate to that, as much as she knew that the forest belonged to no one but itself in the end. It was where they dwelled. Where they lived and died. But it had never truly been theirs.

She stared at the back of his head, contemplative.

Lona was still very much chained to this land, and so was her kin. But she was not so deep into the old ways that she believed that they would remain here forever. Powers ruled where they could not, and it was with a hint of relief that she surrendered fate to the Valar. For what could she do should something happen to this forest? If her trees would one day be no more?

 _Would you journey to the great forest of the West as well, my friend?_ She thought, worried. _Or will you stay by your king until the end?_

There had once been a time when she would claim to know Thranduil's mind as well as her own. In those days, the forest had run wild in him as well. Yet, she knew that someday, the sea would call out to him and she sincerely hoped it would. Lingering was something the elves of the west never contemplated, not like the Silvans, because this was not their home.

Yet, Lona knew that there was something more than earth and trees that bound the King to this forest.

Lona feared for the kingdom, should Thranduil not realize what he sought was no longer bound here, but had already made its way west. No kingdom could follow a king who lingered for the sake of a shadow. Perhaps the Sindar would, but not Silvan elves. To them, the past was nothing more than a memory, for them the lives of trees and all living things in these woods continued despite the happenings of time. New life grew and replaced the old. Such was the way, and one day, new life would replace the elves as well.

Hands covered her own, and she blinked when they held them more firmly.

"What dark thoughts have claimed you, my Lady?"

Lona pressed down on his shoulders, feeling the muscle there. He did not look at her, and she adored him for it. She needed the privacy, for she knew that her conflicted thoughts were written on her face. She had promised herself that she would withstand the storm that was building in the palace, the one waiting to pull its victims down into despair. Yet, it seemed impossible to stop every seed of worry from growing.

A long sigh fell through the air and soon her hands were lifted and drawn forward, past his shoulders and into his large hands. The tug had dragged her into a new position of awkwardness. Her apron-covered front pressing against the back of his chair. Yet, it was the touch of those fingers that bothered her the most, the small circles his thumb made on her palm as his fingers clasped around hers.

"Do not listen to what they say, my Lady," he breathed in a way that made her strangely comforted. Galion was always so gentle with her, and she knew why. It made her feel guilty, being unable to offer anything in return. Knowing that her existence was more likely to cause him pain, that to ease his suffering.

"Even idle gossip can hold a grain of truth when all comes down to it," she replied, neither rejecting nor encouraging the hold he had on her.

"The king will not let it come to that." Galion turned her hands, lifting them towards his hair and she gratefully accepted the distraction.

"I no longer know the king," she said ominously, her fingers threading through the strands. The dark tresses were still damp despite the warm air in the kitchen.

"But you trust him." There was no doubt in his words, and it settled like a lump of stone in her stomach. He continued, staring out the window. "I trust him and we both know that it takes a lot for a Silvan to trust easily. Especially those outside of our kin."

She pulled sections of hair and laced them, beginning loose before drawing tighter the further back she went. Her mind worked as her fingers, agile and critical at the same time. Yet, no matter how much she wished to think positively, that niggling worry still bit at her from the bottom of her gut.

Galion had the sense not to press her, and instead relaxed into her hold. His shoulders no longer stiff, but leaning heavily against her middle. He could feel her fingers folding the side parts into the braiding, working deftly and with ease. His eyes closed as he savored the sensation, knowing from the pattern of the braid she was weaving that she would be done much too soon. His breath trembled inside him as the last finishing twist was braided, completing the ensemble. Yet, her fingers lingered, running down the nape of his neck before falling back on his shoulders. Spreading sheets of dark hair with them.

Arranging the tendrils of his 'free' braid, she said, "Yes, I trust my king. Yet, even the strongest tree can waver in the wind and sometimes all it takes is a little push in the right direction to take it down forever."

She straightened, falling back slightly as she went to take his empty bowl, her face grim. "The question is how many trees has to fall before the King notices the state of his forest."

 **#To be continued...**

* * *

 **AN** Well, that was that chapter! Hopefully, it doesn't disappoint. Working the plot in my head is the best part, but getting it down in writing without making a big mess of it is far more difficult. Hopefully, the veins are not too spread yet to follow the main storyline.

Next chapter will be a bit more Thanduil. Oh, and what happened to the Prince? Stay tuned...

'til next time,

DR


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N** There is no excuse that can forgive this long a wait for an update. But know that this fic is not forgotten. Here is another chapter in honor of Midsummer's Eve, a day I hope everyone will enjoy to the fullest. Yours, DR.

 **Warning** Naked elves, finally taking the step towards becoming an adult and the pain of being in love. No matter how sweet it may be.

* * *

 **.oOo.**

 **Chapter 4**

 **.oOo.**

* * *

He winced against the morning light that shone through the window. Another day, another morning without his son. He sat up, dragging a hand through his hair as he tried to get his body to wake up properly.

"Good morning, Sire."

Thranduil spied the willowy form of Galion securing the curtains in place, before he opened the window and left it ajar as if on an afterthought, but Thranduil knew better. Galion, his long-time butler and most trusted servant of his household, had come to know him better than most. Something that could be both freeing and annoying at the same time. Thanduil found it harder and harder to hide his tiredness from his ever-watching eyes. Even worse, the elf would never comment on it, only provide these subtle remidies to try and help him through the day while Galion himself kept to the sidelines. There was still a barrier between them, yes, something that was not very likely to disappear considering how their positions in life were too different. They lived in different worlds, even if they were interlaced to an almost seamless perfection.

Once, Thranduil naively thought that it was possible to be royalty and still live a relatively normal life. That had been an illusion. For as a noble – a prince even – it was still a somewhat attainable goal. But as he grew older, accustomizing himself to his new life, Thranduil came to realize it was very unlikely to happen as King of Greenwood.

As a figure of absolute authority there came invisible walls that accompanied such power and high rank. Something Thranduil had never quite figured out how to rectify, for had he not from they day he was announced as his father's heir been trained to keep such a distance? To remain detached from the commoners so he might lead them without having to worry about impartiality?

His father primed and groomed him for the throne for years before his actual ascension. Yet, Thranduil now found that most of these lessons seemed more likely to work against him rather than help him. Especially now when he no longer had the daily comfort of Legolas keeping him company in this vast palace.

Thranduil slipped out of bed, allowing the sheets to fall away in a stream of white silk. A thin robe was donned next, a single layer of propriety kept with an elf that had seen all of him more times than Thranduil could count. It had been a hard change to accustom himself to. The constant assistance, as if he was incapable of caring for himself. To always have someone catering to his every need. He was not even allowed independence when doing something as simple dressing himself. Yet, it had to be done even if he thought it a waste of time when he could as easily do such tasks on his own...

Without having to ask Galion's hands were quick to make a loose but sufficient tie around his middle. Knowing well what his king thought of the idea, the encounter was made as brief as possible. The action had become almost unnoticeable, if not for the knowing years of such habits had ingrained in them both.

"The water has been prepared for your bath, Sire. Shall I put out clothes for you?"

Thranduil nodded, "The dark blue ones. Those with the silver veins."

"Of course, Sire." Galion opened the bathroom room doors, easing his king's way in by offering a steadying hand. The king looked half-asleep as it was and Galion would not have him slip and hurt himself climbing into the bath out of sheer carelessness. "Relax for a moment, Sire. I will return."

Thranduil exhaled once he was alone. Sinking deep into the waters, he groaned at the comfortable heat surrounding him. At least, a bit of peace was offered him this morning. Galion was helpful, more so than most of his servants. His strong work ethic was what had made Thranduil hire him in the first place. Though many turned displeased eyes at the king adopting a Silvan manservant as his personal butler.

The water sloshed around him as he lay langourously, wishing he had been able to sleep longer this morn. What with the continuous concerns of the kingdom Thranduil was run down with meetings, official paperwork and worries over this and that. But most of all, he found himself tiring faster now that even the nights offered him no rest.

 _Legolas..._ he thought, thinking of his only son who was probably up and drilling with the guard by now in the training baracks.

It sat ill with him, that his son should join the other's in their regime. Yes, Legolas trained with the head of arms on a regular basis. Sometimes Thranduil saw to it himself that Legolas was taught what was deemed necessary for a king's heir to know. The sword and bow, how to wield a dagger. Proper crafts of a warrior...

Yet, Thranduil had always known that by learning these skills it was inevitable Legolas would have to apply them in combat sooner or later. Now, it seemed, that time was nearing closer than ever.

His councillors had been most shocked when he ordered his Captain of the Guard to prepare for receiving his son into their midst. The announcement was certain to turn a few heads. For all native to Greenwood knew of Thranduil's overprotective nature and it certainly was no secret as he made sure everyone inside his borders knew what would happen should a single strand on his son's head be injured in some way or another. His constant guarding of his only offspring was a sure giveaway of his zealous, territorial nature. After all, he had already lost a wife _and_ his parents. Only the Valar had spared him the rest of his kin, but Thranduil never was too sure of Eru's will and would not put it past either of them to try and snatch every last precious piece from him. Shattering him to pieces.

But with the recent developments Greenwood have suffered through Thranduil quickly found that he could no longer deny that which he should have admitted long ago.

 _Legolas must grow up._

It was an unsettling topic and one he had thus far avoided with suprising persistence. Legolas was well over four centuries, a time where most have served their kingdom for years already. Yet, his son have never set his foot out on a patrol other than short hunting trips out in their forest. Legolas knows little of the dangers that lurk on the edge of the wood and Thranduil had fought long and hard to keep them from him. But now, it has become impossible to hide the truth any longer.

Reports from his guard spoke of a growing unease in the forest, specifically to the south of the woodland realm. Though Greenwood the Great had had its share of evil over the years, as Arda was in no way vanquished of dark servants, it had never posed enough of a threat to cause Thranduil immediate concern. Yet, now...

Thranduil's connection with the wood and growing things told him little, but he was not blind. He could see the worry in the eyes of his subjects. For in that he was lucky. Silvan elves were much more attuned to their plight than he was and on some level Thranduil envied them for it. For if he knew what plagued the wood, he would know how to better fight it. Now, he could only wait. Continue listen to second hand tidings and receive increasing reports of new casualties. Victims of the dark that threatens his realm.

 _I must be prepared..._

A lump sank in his stomach at the thought. The slightest insinuation that Legolas might leave through his emerald gate and never come back made Thranduil's stomach roil. Yet, so many other sons of the wood had already fallen. To war, to death. So much sorrow...

The inhabitants of Greenwood were still too scarred from the last alliance to survive another wave. If war loomed on the horizon, could their brittle nation stand against the tide? Could they survive another strike while they were still at their weakest? What else could he do but send out his men, his warriors to protect his borders?

The door clicked open and Thranduil opened his eyes to see Galion carrying in various supplies. He set them down with a smile on his lips, one so well practiced that Thranduil could no longer tell if it was true or false.

"You may wash me now," Thranduil said, voice soft yet controlled as he rose from his reclined position, resignation growing inside him. He might seem calm on the outside but he felt far from it.

Legolas is gone to train with the rest of their troops. His kingdom is slowly coming apart at the seams. Yet, its king must remain stable. A ruler must remain firm and detached, be able to see beyond emotion and worldly pains. His mind must remain clear to make the right decisions needed of him. For the best of the Kingdom. He must concentrate on what is best for his wood – his subjects.

Otherwise, all will crumble.

Thanduil donned his cold mask once more, the action much easier now after millennia of practice. Yet, somewhere inside, he wished it were not so. That some part of him would remain untouched by the layer of ice he forced upon himself so ruthlessly. That the elf he once was would be remembered as a part of him and not just as a passing shadow before _elf_ became _king_.

He swallowed all the bitterness in one big gulp. Pushing the emotions down before they even managed to touch the surface. But despite his strict control, he could not stop one, selfish thought from prickling his consciousness as he locked the gates.

 _I never wished to be king._

* * *

 **.oOo.**

Faelwen could not tear her eyes of the redheaded maid, following the sweeping motions the lithe figure made as she rolled a dough out on the counter. She should not be surprised to see her. Many elves were hired and many more had resigned throughout the years. Yet, something about this elleth seemed... _off_. Like she did not fit in an environment such as this.

Lona sent her a gaze and Faelwen instantly lowered her own back to her task.

Lona, too, has been acting different ever since their new aid started. Suspicious seemed too strong a word for the change that had taken over her. She was more guarded – more _cautious_ – than usual.

The elleth seemed normal enough, if a bit shy and indecisive once introduced. But most of the elves that began their work here were that way in the beginning. It was a stressful environment, working in the palace kitchens. Yet, most grew accustomed to the flurry of routines and soon adopted the pace and habits of the rest of the staff. Tauriel, however, seemed to have a harder time adjusting.

"Oh, you do it this way," Tanna explained helpfully, as Tauriel once again, cut the pieces wrong, leaving more left-over dough than Lona would ever permit them doing. Tauriel smiled embarrassedly and thanked Tanna, copying her motions.

Faelwen shook her head.

What would drive an elleth, who looked to have absolutely no experience with cooking, to join the kitchen staff? Faelwen stared at her own, worn fingers. Her hands were littered with old cuts and burns, many faded but plenty of them new enough to stand out angrily against her skin. Faelwen was young, had started her kitchen aid career far younger than most in her profession. She had spent years perfecting herself to reach this level, yet in the end she always seemed to lack experience. Just that little spice that made _average_ transcend into the circle of _special_. If Faelwen, who had helped her mother in the kitchen for as long as she could remember, had a hard time learning the ways of the palace kitchen then how would Tauriel manage?

She glanced at Lona's hovering form were she stood over the stove, managing the great pots that held that morning's oatmeal. Food to feed a kingdom, she often said. Even if it was only the palace inhabitants who partook in the humble meal. It was Lona's pride and joy, something that she took great care making. It was said that elves who lived in the palace could tell when Lona had been the one cooking the porridge, and after seeing Lona work first hand on it Faelwen could attest to the Head Cook's perfectionist ways.

Which made Faelwen wonder _why_ Lona would accept such an inferior and unexperienced addition to their ranks?

A loud hiss filled the air and Lona was on her feet faster than a cat seeing a mouse. A ruckus filled the air as an oven pan dropped to the floor. Sending small loaves and rolls to the floor with it. Lona was quickly by Tauriel's side, snagging her by her wrist and covering the angrily reddening appendage with a cool cloth.

"No worries. It is just a burn," Lona said, calmly pressing the cooling cloth against the reddening area of her hand.

Tauriel turned wide green eyes at her, the orbs glistening with what could only be beginnings of tears.

 _Perhaps I was a bit too early in allowing her to tend to the ovens?_ Lona thought as she tried her best to seem unfrightening. Tauriel looked shocked to find her there, but her friendliness must not have been convincing enough for soon the tears slipped forth one at a time.

"I... I am sorry..." Tauriel choked out, her face pale with realization. Her free hand tightening into a fist.

"It was a mistake, we all make them." Lona turned her head towards Tanna, silently asking her to take out the other pan of freshly baked rolls. "It is nothing. We always make more than enough as it is."

"But I am so clumsy!" Tauriel continued, utterly disgusted with her own lacking abilities. "I cannot even do such a simple task as handling a breadpan."

Lona led the elleth over to the small table, seating her on a stool as she started to tend the injury. The burn was not large, but probably still hurt quite a bit. Lona herself always thought the initial wave of pain to be the easy part, it was the lingering pulsating sting afterwards that hurt the most. Tauriel was lucky it was not worse. More than a few of her aids still had nasty scars from burns.

"You must have slipped with the ovencloth."

"A beginner's mistake," huffed Tauriel, self-critically, watching the older elleth dab at the burn with careful fingers.

"You _are_ a beginner." Lona's eyes glittered. She could not find it in her to scold Tauriel, despite her initial opposition to taking the elleth under her wing. They did, after all, not very often hire mid-year. Yet, Lona had not been able to refuse her. Tauriel's letter of recommendation and her incentive for working in the capital held her placent, despite her reservations...

Lona scanned the elleth's face.

Tauriel did have the northern features. Iconic green eyes, a straight backed nose and the accentuated, dark lips. The tall, willowy build also accomodated her heritage. But her features held none of the sharpness most of the northern tribes had.

It did bother Lona, hiring someone from the same tribe as Rhiwsûl. They were harsher than most and though not all were as extreme in opinion as Rhiwsûl, they did show more reluctance to join when the wood gathered under the Crown.

Yet, Tauriel's motives had been much like her own once upon a time...

How could Lona refuse a soul wishing to flee the bonds of kin? For had she not done the same, so long ago? And what would happen to Tauriel if she was sent back home? Leaving was usually the easy part, to return defeated was often worse than the initial defection...

All day, Lona had ruminated what her own fate would have been had she returned to her mother's kin that fateful year. Without doubt, her life would have turned out much differently. More likely than not, she would have been settled and married before her first millennia, perhaps even raised a couple of elflings by now. Yet, Lona knew that even if she had not met Thranduil, life in the tribe was never a life meant for her.

Lona applied the salve used for these occations in silence. The burn would heal quickly and soon be just a memory. "There, finished."

"Thank you, Lady Lona."

"Take care next time. Not all injuries are as easily healed."

"I am glad that it was nothing more serious," Tanna said, stopping beside the redhead. Tauriel looked surprised at her approach, but did not deny her the small talk.

"Aye, though I have my suspicions it shall not be the last," Tauriel said with a growing grin, finally releasing the tension.

Both elleth laughed, returning to their tasks. Lona too rejoined her pots, but not before sparing a glance at the youngest of the lot. Faelwen stood stiffly at her counter. Her eyes following the pair fixatedly. A hard glint to her gaze. Lona's face fell slightly. She had a feeling there was more to be had out of this, and Lona was not entirely sure whether it was to be good or bad for any of them.

* * *

 **.oOo.**

Legolas had never felt truly different before.

Not before now, that is.

He sat waiting on one of the logs at the training area, watching the groups of elves surrounding the small glen. Most wore gear already, many checked their swords or quivers. Some were even drawn into good natured discussion, yet somehow Legolas had been excluded from it all.

Not on purpose, surely... But Legolas could not deny that he felt a bit forgotten, considering the circumstances.

He shifted on the log, wishing he had his cousin with him. At least then he would have had someone to talk too. These elves all seemed afraid to approach him. As if a wall stood between them, impenetrable. At the palace, most elves knew him by face. It was not uncommon for elves to greet him in the halls and Galion was always watching his steps. Therefor it was not surprising that Legolas found his sudden isolation perplexing.

A small part of Legolas wished to blame his father. For he knew the king's reputation of overprotective father was partly to blame. But even as the thought entered his mind, he immediately felt guilty for thinking it.

His father was a proud ellon. A strong King in his own right, but he was also a parent. Something Legolas had unwittingly exploited as much as he could. As he had deemed his right, ever since he was a small elfling sniffling from the cold, harsh comments some of the more stern nobles threw his way. Yet, recently, the more the realm tugged at the king the less Legolas saw of his father. It soon evolved to a degree where even Legolas could no longer deny the change that had taken over the palace. Thus, when his father finally confronted him about his long postponed guard training, Legolas had been unable to refuse. He did not _want_ to.

He loved his father too much to tell him no.

To some extent Legolas felt excited over this new turn in his life. For had Legolas not always wished to become a warrior? Had he not proclaimed out loud as an elfing-turned-adult that he would become the strongest elf in the realm? To protect his father and his happiness?

Had Legolas not dreamed of seeing real life outside the stone walls of the palace?

Somehow, the idylic vision of his new, adventurous life paled once Legolas saw the worn barracks and the crowds of elves that awaited their training. Legolas had not seen the outside of the capital before this, but ever so slowly he could understand the severity of this lifestyle. Of putting your life at risk for the bigger cause. Because Legolas could _feel_ the tension that flowed through their elven veins... The adrenaline that was simmering just beneath the surface of their skin, ready to lash out and bubble to life at the tiniest hints of danger-

He flinched when a hand set on his shoulder.

"Legolas, right?" Legolas looked up into a smiling face. "Is this seat taken?"

The prince stared uncomprehending for a moment. He was the only one seated in the circle of logs, despite there being more than enough space for twenty elves along the roughly organized wooden construction...

The ellon chuckled, disregarding his slightly gaping mouth and surprised face alltogether as he sat himself beside Legolas on the log.

He was tall, far taller than Legolas, but his form held a subtle animalistic grace to it added by a strong yet limber build. Despite the arrangement of bow and quiver strapped securely to his back Legolas could see the ivory white twin handles of short swords sticking out beside the quiver. A clever hiding place if he ever saw one.

"Cat got your tongue?" the ellon asked, dark eyes staring at the younger elf beside him.

"No.." Legolas said, all of a sudden feeling foolish. He buried his fingers in the fabric of his green leggings covering his knees, "I simply did not expect company."

"Ah," the ellon gave the crowd a quick, cursory glance. A lazy grin forming on his face. "They just don't know what to do with you. After all, it is not every day a Prince is in their midst."

Legolas cocked his head and the ellon smiled in humble understanding. "These are common elves, my Prince. Farmers, carpenters, merchants... Most have hardly touched a sword, even less wielded one. It is not in their nature and not many Silvans choose that path out of free will. Bow and arrow we know, yes, but the cold bite of steel is still very unfamiliar to us. Only those that were in the war wield swords and of those there are few here.

The prince nodded. His father had dispatched most of his guards, that he knew. Veterans were often used as captains, most of whom were stationed along their borders. His cousin Beinion was one of them, though he had yet to gain significantly much experience in battle, young as he was at the time of the last war. Yet, Legolas did not expect to find himself placed amongst beginners. Though, from the way they handled their weapons of choice, Legolas thought they must have _some_ experience in the field.

"I am Dolthond, though many call me Dol," the ellon said, turning his eyes back at the youth beside him.

"Legolas," he answered in kind, grinning. "Though, you knew that already."

"Many of us do. But you will find that many know you from name alone and not by face." He raised an eyebrow at the prince. "Although I must say I am happily surprised. I did not find the protected and pampered little elfling I originally expected."

"Dol!" The elf looked up, face wiped blank in an second from its previous warm and open expression, meeting eyes with one important looking elf Legolas was sure had to be of senior superiority. "Gather your group. The princeling's yours."

Legolas stiffened at the words. Suddenly the looming form of Dolthond blocked out the sun as he stood to attention. "Aye, Captain!"

The giant elf stretched out a hand towards him, which Legolas grasped gingerly.

"Welcome to Fearie land, 'Las." The prince blinked at the unexpected slip of a nickname, but decided against pointing it out. Dolthond seemed too concentrated on the streaming masses of elves around them to bother listening to his complaints anyway, his mouth twisted into a wry smile. "Where the wood grows wilder and our aims surer. Just be sure to keep yourself in one piece until the end, alright? You never know what will come flying at you.."

Legolas gulped, his hand grasping the hilt of his dagger where it sat at his belt.

He was a prince, one trained by the King himself. But as tall Silvans poured in around him, he found it hard to act like the hero he always envisioned himself as in his play-pretend battles inside the palace hallways. None of the other's wore proud smiles, none grinned at the possibility of bravery and earned glory. Instead, it was as if a heavy grey veil had swept over them, weiging them down more than the packs loaded onto their backs.

The Head Captain of the Barracks was shouting at the head of the group. Their feet assembling into what Legolas could only figure was a loosely constructed line. Their group falling behind many others in order. It was only then Legolas noted the strange edge to the language, and the fact that Dolthond was busily interpreting and communicating the Head Captain's booming orders to the others in their group with his own flowing voice, a familiar lilt of Silvan Legolas so often heard in the kitchens. Many of the squadmembers were listening to him avidly and not paying any attention the barked orders shouted at the far front.

 _Was it always like this?_

When Dolthond noticed his gaze, he clamped a hand on Legolas' shoulder, keeping the blond headed prince in place with an older brother-like air over him. The bellowing was over and most stood at ease in their positions, awaiting their next move. "Don't worry, my Prince. We will take good care of you."

The teasing did not soothe the fluttering of his nervous stomach. But Legolas guessed that was how all new things were supposed to feel.

Well... At least, he knew he had someone to talk to. For the moment, that was enough.

* * *

 **.oOo.**

Her feet moved soundlessly over the stone walkway, not even an echo from her soft slippers. She didn't expect one, for proper conduct demand she move silently. The vast Royal Quarters was not to be disturbed, after all. It was something a servant learnt early on, if you were lucky – or unlucky enough, depending on how you saw it – to find yourself assigned to the area.

She eyed the tray were the teapot rested buried beneath isolating layers of cloth and fabric. Anything to keep the flavoured water hot enough to please.

It was an oddity. Something that didn't happen very often and had only occurred twice before this. And for all her reasoning, Lona could not figure out the reason behind the lady's request. Not this time. Before, she might have had an inkling about what might have spurred such a decision on her part. But now...

Lona pursed her lips.

She shouldn't let it get to her. She shouldn't let the scheming elleth think she had anything over her. But didn't she? For Lona to be scurrying up through the various layers of the palace at her beck and call certainly attested to something, did it not?

She straightened and exhaled a long breath, steadying herself. This was work. Nothing more.

Lona pushed the door open smoothly, immediately hit by the rush of sound; carefully controlled laughing, a flute singing in the air and that continuous ticking noise that accompanied the lady's habit of rapping her nails over the laquered table surface when being kept waiting.

"Ah, there you are." The voice echoed over the din and instantly all other movement stopped in the room. The handfull of handmaidens present in the room stared at her, their eyes scrutinizing from under perfectly curled lashes, hands quickly clasped in their laps like proper ladies. So fake, so... trained into nobility.

Lona managed a curtsy with tray and all, it might not be elegant nor as graceful as the one's she'd seen given at court but it was respectful. In the end, that was all that was needed. A line to mark them as different. Superior.

"My Lady." She straightened. "I come with tea, as requested."

"Oh, good." The king's honerable sister gestured gracefully towards the table and Lona strode over with practiced steps. Immediately, she set to work on preparing the cups. "Rush in the kitchens? I do hope I did not drag you away from something.. _important._ "

Lona bit her lip in response. "Of course not, my Lady. I'm afraid it was all somewhat.. short notice. The servant girl you sent down became a bit lost along the way. Easily happened, of course. The palace being as large as it is."

She did not bother pointing out that the girl had been in tears by the time she reached the kitchens. The girl was barely able to string enough words together between sobs to pass on the Lady's request for, to quote her lady's words, ' _proper'_ tea. Lady Lanthiriel was not known for being harsh as much as she was infamous for being a strict mistress, something the servants serving the royal family knew well. But to claim the tea had been done wrongly simply because the girl had mixed up a single step in preparing it... As she glanced around the room Lona saw the stiff-backed servants that still stood ready by the walls. Three in total, all blonde and perfectly Sindar. Alas, from the hint of fear in their eyes Lona guessed not even their Sindar heritage spared them the bite of their Lady's sharp tongue this day.

"You are as humble as usual, I see." Lanthiriel watched her as Lona's hands worked the small utensils used to prepare tea. "I never have found it very pleasing trait in an elleth. Too little self-assertiveness is bad character, I say. In a place like this never speaking your mind is like asking to be eaten alive."

"You are entitled to your own opinion, of course, my Lady. As are we all." Lona finished pouring the fragrant, gold liquid. Politely presenting a cup first to the King's sister, then to her handmaidens. Each move in proper order of importance, of course. It would not do to offend them, for although they may be handmaidens, many had contacts beyond their names and friends in high places that would think nothing of endangering a silvan maid's position.

Lanthiriel's lips curled into a subtle smile.

The last handmaiden and thus the lowest ranking one mostly due to her short time of service, a pretty little thing that could only be another maiden from the King's distant kin in Lórien, gave her a cold look when Lona handed her a cup. Dainty fingers picked up the porcelain by the ear, making a show of taking a sip like a queen would. It was all hot air, in Lona's opinion. Many of the noble ladies that lived in palace had high hopes, but few if any would ever get the station they so desperately aimed for. Especially since less and less noblemen remained unmarried these days.

Lona gave a sideway glance at Lady Lanthiriel and indeed, the tell-tale tightening of her lips was all there was to say that she had noticed the subtle snub.

Lona was no fool, nor was she narrow enough to think the King's sister was unaware of what exactly what these handmaidens _truly_ were after. For it was rare for Lona to meet one who do not hold some kind of impure motif for their servitude. Whether it was self gain or only the perks being one of Lady Lanthiriel's nearest confindants, Lona did not care to speculate. It was none of her business really, to stick her nose into the royal family's choice of company.

But in the case of the young handmaiden, she was probably hoping for a chance to prove herself as someone _worthy_. For who, if not the King's sister, were better to judge her character and put in a good word for her? After all, Lanthiriel was the only female in the royal family at this time. So to get close to a position in court usually meant earning the favor of one powerful enough help them attain one.

Delicate porcelain clicked against the table. Lady Lanthiriel watched the silvan maid amused as if she could see the course of Lona's thoughts just by studying her.

"You have grown, Lady Lona." The handmaidens all stiffened in their seats, but Lona remained unaffected. Hands clasped before her, she awaited the words she knew were coming. "For more than three hundred years you've kept to the shadows. Little Legolas no longer comes to me singing your praises but I do not need my nephew's input to know that you have not been idle."

"My lady-" Lona starts to say but Lanthiriel's raised hand stops her.

"There is nothing to discuss on the matter." Lanthiriel took the moment of pause to play with her silver spoon, watching as the metal surface distorted those prominent Silvan features, sharp compared to her own more soft ones. "It is only I that feel it my duty to warn you, Lady Lona."

Lanthiriel weaved her fingers together in all sofistication, but a hint of sly satisfaction showed on her face as she watched the sudden nervous tightening to Lona's shoulders.

"Know that I too have eyes and ears in the palace." Lanthiriel allowed her cold gaze to roam up and down Lona's figure; over her plain green dress, the still white but worn apron. Her eyes finally stopped at the top of her head, taking in the braiding. Nothing had changed, yet Lanthiriel knew that was what bothered her the most. For although Lona stood fast like a tree through the ages, she knew her brother had not. He is not the young elf he once was, nor the naïve King who follows his late father's words to the letter anymore. No. He is tired and worn down by the years of unrest, and where cracks may form life can take root and sprout again unhindered.

Her servant's whispers of how the King made the effort of going down to the servant's quarters, the very place Thranduil had avoided like a plague for centuries made something _unsettling_ niggle at her.

Lona's mouth opened, then closed. Her lips unable to form any words at the stern gaze Lady Lanthiriel leveled her with. One that commanded her obedience, as was her right. Lona gripped her hands just a little tighter trying to stop the trembling that had taken over them.

"Do not make foolish mistakes, _Lady_ Lona." She lingered on her title longer than necessary, just to rub in the difference between their levels in society even further. "You will do well to remember your place."

Lona closed the door softly behind her. Her body feeling like lead as she forced herself to make her way back, down the hall and towards the stairs. As if by magic her feet rooted in place just past a familiar pair of doors. The tall, engraved surfaces lavish in decorations, made for the royalty he was. Yet, as she turned to place her palm against its exquisite surface it was cold. Nothing but an empty, heart-rendering cold that seemed to mirror their reality more now than ever.

How could something so understandable be so painful? Or was it because she understood the reason it could never be that it hurt so much? For if not for the separation, the clear divide set up between them, would they even be so attracted to each other?

Was she so desperate to grasp that missing piece that would finally allow her peace, love and understanding that Lona was willing to offer up all she was for a love that could never be? She closed her eyes. All she ever wished for was a soothed soul so that she may finally move on. But how could she when the key to it was held by an elf cold and hard, so very different from the one that had once sparked these feelings in her in the first place?

Her eyes burned as she stared at the door. At the presence she could feel behind the four inches of stone set between them. She recalled his face. The same cold walls erected around it that had been there for the past millennia, acting as a buffert between him and the forrest. Between him and the people that need him the most.

Her heart aches.

Fingertips dragged over stone before dislodging, her steps staggering as she made haste to put as much space between them as possible. To stop the burning, the shredding of the weak defences she had made against reality, the world that could never accept them.

Bursting out on the East Balcony she let her tears free, drawing a shuddering breath. The damp outside air seemed to answer her sadness as the skies emptied itself in a drizzle. Hands grip stone, tight enough to force the blood from her now pale, cold fingers but not strong enough to numb the pain. The emotions flooding her insides.

It aches.

 _Because I need you._

* * *

 **# _To be continued..._**


End file.
